Sweet Redemption
by Mrs Jace Wayland-Herondale
Summary: With the war over and Valentine dead, the Morgenstern children are faced with a new problem: the truth. Faced with the unknown question of her future, Clary struggles to justify her abilities to the Clave, who believe her to be an abnormality among Shadowhunters while Jonathan and Jace are doing everything in their power to find answers to the questions that plague them all.
1. Chapter 1: Wash It All Away

**It's finally here, guys! Sweet Redemption, the sequel to Sweet Revenge! Make sure you read that first else wise you'll be super confused xD**

 **I really hope you like it, I've had some awesome help from JMDeaton, who I am collabing with for this story! Go check out her TMI AU, High School Sweethearts, it's AMAZING! It's all human, so it's a nice breather from the traditional TMI fanfiction following their lives as shadowhunters (:**

 **Don't forget to favorite, follow, and review! Reviews help me write faster ;D**

 **thank you so much 3**

 **xoxo, Em**

 _I've given up_  
 _On society_  
 _Up on my family_  
 _Up on your social disease_

 _I've given up_  
 _On the industry_  
 _Up on democracy_  
 _Done with all your hypocrisy_

 _All of the chaos_  
 _And all of the lies_  
 _I hate it_

 _I'm wasting here_  
 _Can anyone wash it all away_  
 _I'm waiting here_  
 _For anyone to wash it all away_  
 _Wash it all away_

Wash It All Away, Five Finger Death Punch

* * *

 **Jace**

It's been a week. An entire _week_ since we've heard anything about Clary. In fact, the last we've heard is when _Robert_ came parading into the Institute with an army to take Clary away, as if she was a threat to any of us or to the Clave. But they've finally figured out that she's _different_ than us all. She's stronger, _and_ more powerful. She could take down an adult Shadowhunter without breaking a sweat. She can create new runes, runes that have never been seen by Shadowhunter eyes before. They're magnificent, but the Clave focuses on how they think it's _wrong._ Abnormal. _Different._

So instead of learning about something that they don't know, they try to _control_ it. Control Clary? She's not a doll, she won't sit down and let them do as they please. She may not have been fighting back when they came for her, but she is not going to give in to this accusation. She knows that she is _good_ , pure. She _knows_ that.

And she knows that we'll all come to her aid when she needs it for this trial. Everybody is already buzzing about it, from the Downworld of New York City, to the depths of the Faerie realm where the Seelie Queen is hiding away with her poppets to avoid persecution for breaking the Accords. It's going to be _huge._

But where is the news of the trial? Had a date been set in secrecy? No, the Clave _loves_ to make an example of people, they'll want everyone to watch as the Mortal Sword _brutally rips_ the truth out of Clary. It'll bring her to her knees, down to their level. Which is where _they_ want her and all because she is _different._

It's something that _all_ of the Downworld can get behind _and_ support. For hundreds of years, they've been persecuted for being different from Shadowhunters. The people who supported us when we went against Valentine, stand alongside us even now. Luke Garroway's pack and Simon Lewis' clan have all of their men and women listening for _anything_ , even the smallest whisper or gossip of where the Morgenstern girl has been taken. They've been greeted with static silence, as well.

Not even Robert will tell us a thing. Maryse is constantly writing another message to send via fire or using the phone to call Jia Penhallow, the Consul. Long before she gained the position of Consul, she was friends with Maryse. Even with a friendship spanning years and years—so long that Alec and Isabelle used to play with Jia's daughter, Aline, when they were still in diapers—Jia was unable to speak of the matter with Maryse. Not even to tell her when the trial is; assuming that there _will_ be a trial.

I can't allow myself to think that they'll strip her of her runes or _worse_ , without a trial. _Sed lex dura lex._ The law is hard, but it is the law. The Clave follows that motto to a T, so there has to be a trial. Right? I don't know what any of us would do if they decided to bend their precious law and skip over the trial. I don't know what _I'd_ do for that matter.

"Jace!" Isabelle's voice calls along with a knock at the door. I jump off of the bed and race to the door. She sounds frantic. Or excited; you can never tell, with Isabelle.

"What's wrong?" I ask her when her head pops in, black hair spilling over her shoulders like tar.

"Nothing," she gives me a small smile. "We're all so stressed, so let's go train a little."

"Fine," I groan, turning to sit back on the bed and tug on a pair of sneakers.

"Let's go get Jonny!" She grins, turning to rush off into the cavernous hallway. Church is sitting just outside my door, and he rockets off after I stoop down and pet him. It's been too long since I've gotten some kitty love.

"Jonny?" I snort as I follow after her and the gray fluff ball with quick strides. "Jeez, you two move fast," I tease her.

"Oh hush, Jace! It's just a nickname. Like you guys call me Izzy," she bites back harshly, almost defensively.

"Uh huh, sure. If you say so, _Izzy_."

She stops and turns to whack me square in the chest and glares daggers at me. She's so easily _irritated._ It's great when comic relief is needed.

"C'mon, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out _that_ chemistry," I smirk and watch her out of the corner of my eyes as we walk. She clenches her jaw but keeps walking, completely ignoring me. That's when I _know_ she has a thing for _Jonny._ Oh man I'm going to have to run with this one for as long as possible and tease them enough for both Clary and I. She would have so much fun with this.

"That was a horrible pun." She finally says. I'm not sure, but I _think_ that she has the smallest hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth.

"It was punny," I smile, elbowing her. "Clary would appreciate that joke."

"Clary would also call you an idiot." She elbows me back.

"That too. But she would laugh _first_."

Izzy and I bicker our way across the Institute amicably, something that makes me feel a whole lot better than I did a few minutes ago. Things just haven't felt right without Clary around, but right now I feel sort of okay. It's been hard, though. I've gotten so used to being around her, and training with her. Bickering with her and making her laugh, and watching the way her eyes sparkle when she does.

And now that she's been _arrested_ , _and_ we don't know where she is, I don't know what to do. What _can_ I even do? I don't have any ties to anybody higher up in the Clave, besides Robert, and he's the one who has spearheaded this entire investigation. I knew when Alec blurted out Clary's last name at dinner and Robert tensed up, that he would have a problem with that. _But she is not her father._

She's not cruel, or hell-bent on manipulating others for her gain. She's compassionate and fierce, and so strong. To _kill_ her own father and _save_ so many others from whatever he was planning had to have taken so much out of her, yet she remained stoic. She never broke down completely, while most people would have been crushed to go through with such a thing. I admire that will to just keep going and _survive_. It's a quality that will get her farther than most.

And that's the reason why I _know_ that she'll be okay. She's a true fighter, and she won't let _anybody_ get her down. Not the Clave, not herself, not any of us. She'll get through this.

 _We'll all get through this._

* * *

 **Maryse**

The New York Institute, my _home_ , has been thrown into utter chaos in the time span of a single week. My children had finally returned from an unauthorized trip to Idris—to take on Valentine and an army of Fey, no less—and not a week later, the polite red head that I've grown fond of seeing at the dinner table is ripped away from us for crimes that she is not guilty of committing. Furthermore, she is taken away by my own husband, who has forsaken his vows to protect the innocent and find the truth where it is always found; he is the Inquisitor, for heaven's sake. It's his duty to protect those wrongfully accused as well as to persecute those who have turned on their own.

While the law is hard but it is the law, it is not a means to witch hunt the innocent. Clarissa Morgenstern is innocent. She is the victim of negligence and loss, and if it were not for her, Valentine could have very well invaded the city of Alicante himself. If it were not for her strong morals and will to uphold her Shadowhunter vows—unlike her father who broke them so carelessly—then many more Nephilim would have died. She has rid our world of one the vilest creature it has seen in more recent centuries.

It's not only my own husband's poor judgement that I mourn, but the betrayal that my entire family feels. It's as if he had no regards for _us_ when he marched in an army of Nephilim and ripped Clary away with barely a goodbye to her friends. It's Max's nightmares of his own father attacking his home and taking away his friend and Isabelle's usually rough demeanor worn haggard and exhausted by losing the only friend that she's ever made besides her siblings.

It's the sleepless nights that Jace spends in the library, pacing the worn stone flooring, waiting for a call on the single landline, or a fire message that he doesn't want to miss. It's Alec's strength being sucked out of his marrow by Jace's constant state of worry. It's my children that worry me.

Their father has betrayed them, in their eyes. My husband has turned on his family, on his wife, to blindly follow orders from the Clave. The realization that he is the _head_ of all of this hurts me. She is not my child, but she makes my children happy; especially Jace, and the way that he was suddenly beginning to smile more often. He's always been the sullen, brooding type. Very cocky, but when he gets stuck up in his head, he gets into these moods. Lately, these moods have dissipated and been replaced by a much kinder, almost more _bubbly_ Jace. It's nothing like I've ever seen with him, but I love the effect that she has, or perhaps I should say had, on him.

If my children are happy and taken care of, then I'm happy as well. But right now, my children are miserable, and that brings me sorrow. Their young hearts should be out on the field, training to their limits and then relaxing, laughing, _playing_ like normal children should be playing. Instead they are fighting wars that are too much for them to handle, and having their worlds shredded apart by those they believed that they could trust.

There's no going back from this infidelity. It will be forever burned into my mind, the way that Robert so carelessly brought down his hand of judgement with no regards to the young children in the room. He scarred Max with the image of an innocent girl, and _friend,_ being treated like cattle and shipped off for slaughter. He's at such a young and impressionable age, and to have an army of Shadowhunters come knocking at your door and demanding cooperation had to be mortifying for him.

Even Isabelle, my brave little warrior, has been affected by this strike of terror. She's always been so closed off with her emotions, very brusque and very cold to the world around us, and yet I can see it in her eyes that she is sad and lost, unsure of what to do now that Clary is gone.

Alec is hurt by his father's actions, but he sees in Clary what I see; she's a stubborn fighter, and she'll get through the ordeal without a single scratch on her. If anything, he's been happy; not because of Clary's removal from our home, but because of the love and support that Magnus brings him. While I don't understand the love that they share—they're just so _different_ —I support Alec in anything that he does. If that means that he loves a warlock, then so be it. I just want my children happy.

And although I don't know much about Jonathan, he's come to be a familiar face in the Institute, just like his younger sister. He seems to have settled into a much more sullen state than the one I met him in. He was a talker, always conversing with somebody about something, whether it be weapons or the weather. He's such a polite young man and so kind. In the time that he has been here, even though he is in a wheelchair, he always offers to help with his fair share of the work, such as cooking and cleaning the common areas. He's always hanging around Jace too, and when he does, it's like the two pull strength from each other, both feeling the same loss.

I know that Jace however, harbors much more than just friendly feelings for Clary.

That's what affects Jace the most, those feelings that he _tries_ to hide. We've all seen the way that he looked at her when she was in the same room. Always admiring. He's passionate about helping Clary find her way back to us here, but when we hit a wall in our search, it's like he just steps back into what he was _before_ all of this. He's slipping back into his previous demeanor, closed off and brusque. It terrifies me, and I want to do everything that I can do to help, for the sake of my children.

I can even put up with the incessant questions that they ask, repeated daily—sometimes even more than just once a day. Usually I would unravel at the constant stream of repetitive questions that they _know_ I don't yet have an answer to, but I can't find it in myself to become irate with them. They're just anxious, and truth be told, I am anxious too.

The Clave doesn't waste time with trials, especially ones for supposed treason. They _like_ to make an example out of those who have committed a crime, and yet a week has passed. Treason is the highest crime among Shadowhunters, punishable my banishment or even _death_. It brings me back to the question that has been running on a loop through everybody's mind this past week; _where is Clary?_

If I want any answers, I'll have to go find them myself.

* * *

 **Isabelle**

Jace is _such_ an ass. He's never been the sweet, mild-natured one, so I should expect it from him by now. I don't know why I let what he said get to me, _but it does._ His teasing in the hallways left my heart beating a little harder than usual, and my cheeks a little pinker than usual.

Even while we were training, he kept dropping hints and innuendos that I would _usually_ laugh at. But not now, because they're hitting a little bit close to home. I do genuinely like spending time around Jonathan. He's so kind and gentle.

So I just hit him, because I've never been good with my words and talking to him would only make things worse. I wish I were able to talk to _someone_ about it, but I can't right now. The only person I'd want to talk to is _Clary_ , and seeing as how she's a bit tied up right now—probably literally, knowing my father and how he holds grudges.

I don't think any of us know what he has against them—or maybe it it has something to do with their parents—but he always acted differently with Clary or Jonathan around; he avoided them for the most part, while she and Jon were staying here after the battle. When they were in the same room, he was always so standoffish and _rude._ My mother always scolded him for it, and after the first time she told him to _behave_ he just left. Said he had business in Alicante to attend to. But whenever he would come back, he was _horrible._ Always in a bad mood, always snapping at Alec and I. I want to know _why._

Why does he hold such a huge grudge against the people who helped make our world a little bit better? Why want to persecute someone for doing the right thing and using their Angel-given powers for the greater good? Anyone with powers _that strong_ can only come from the Angel himself. I'm sure that Clary was given them for a reason, and she's used them only to help others—and in this last case, to eliminate the radical threat that was her father.

So, _why_?

I keep running through all the possibilities while on my way to the library to find my mom, because I _need_ to talk to someone about all of this. I know she wonders the same thing that I do— _everybody_ in this Institute does. It's a hopeless loop of unanswered questions that just lead to more questions.

"Mom," I call out as I open the library door. My voice echoes through the massive space, bouncing off of the stain glass windows and bookshelves lined with ancient volumes right back at me. "Mom?"

I walk in and peer around the corner to the sitting area, but find nobody there. Where is she? I walk back towards the door, hoping to find her in the kitchen or living room, but a fluttering piece of paper sitting on her desk catches my eye. It's held down with a spare witchlight that flares up temporarily when I grab the note. It's addressed to all of us—including Jon.

 _I'm portaling to Alicante for the day to ask around about Clary. I'll be back in the evening. Stay out of trouble please. Love, Mom._

She's going on behalf of _all of us_ , to find the answers that we all needed last week, when we were torn apart. When Clary was taken from us.

The boys will be _ecstatic_ to see this. It even makes me smile a little to think that my mom would do this for us, for Clary. She may be a strict mentor, but she does what she needs for her family's safety and well-being.

I hope that I can be as strong as her in the face of the unknown, some day. For now, I have to suck it up and hope that I can hold myself together.

* * *

 **Jon**

"Jon, I can't _do_ this anymore! Just sitting around, doing _nothing_!"

I'm startled by the outburst, and immediately wheel myself around to face Jace where he sits on one of the library's window seals. He's glaring out of the window with so much hatred, and his face is flushed with frustration. The note left by Maryse is crumpled in his hand tightly.

"I know, Jace. But there's only so much we can do right now. We can't do anything until we figure out _where_ she is and what the Clave plans on doing," I tell him with a shrug.

"Mom's in Alicante trying to sort things out," Isabelle pitches in from her spot perched in an old armchair. She looks exhausted.

"How can you two be so _relaxed_ right now?" He snaps at us both. "Your sister is out there somewhere, _alone_! Your friend!"

I don't answer for a moment, letting myself think over my words before I let them out with a bitterness to my voice.

Isabelle looks about ready to _explode_. Yet, she doesn't. She stands up with a slow, relaxed sort of grace, and turns towards me. Her dark eyes meet mine, and I can tell how hard it is for her to hold it all back. I give her a small smile and she glares at Jace before gliding out of the room without another word towards him, as if she just can't bother. It's not like this isn't effecting all of us, and for Jace to assume that he's the only one struggling is extremely ignorant. _He's not alone._

"I'm not relaxed, Jace. I'm worried _sick_ about my _baby sister_. Do _not_ question that. But _I am not Clary._ I don't rush into something without having a solid plan, and right now, we _don't_ have a plan! We need to know where she is to even begin to formulate something," I tell him.

Jace takes an audible breath, and I watch as his back stills, like he's holding his breath.

I am Jonathan, and I think things through before walking into them. I'm logical and practical, and everything that Clary is not. She's strong and brave, but she also works mainly on _instinct._ She even tends to be more impulsive than I _._

"You're right. I'm sorry," he finally says, his shoulders sagging and his voice dejected. "I'm just—I'm _dying_ over here, Jon."

"I know, man. It's hard. For _all_ of us. Not knowing where she is, or how they're treating her…" I shake my head at the thought of what she could possibly be going through. "But she's strong. _Don't forget that_. She can do this with _or_ without us. Right now she's going to have to make do without us, until we figure out what the Clave plans on doing with her."

"I feel like it's one big waiting game," he whispers. "Like we're _losing_."

I think back to what Clary told me before she went with Robert and his men. " _Keep working on that project. Maybe Jace can help you, I'm sure he won't mind."_

"Do you remember what Clary said before she left?" I ask Jace. He turns towards me and brings his eyebrows together, trying to recollect.

"Something about being back in no time," he says, phrasing it like a question.

"No, not that." I roll my eyes. "About a _project._ She wanted you to help me with it."

" _Oh_ ," he says, his eyes lighting up and a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, of course! I'll help with whatever you need."

"Good, then. Go grab yourself an overnight bag," I tell him with a knowing smile. "And call your parabatai. We're going to need his boyfriend to help us get where we're going…"


	2. Chapter 2: Trouble Sleeping

**Aye, Chapter 2! Working on chapter 3, it's halfway finished!**

 **As always thanks you JMDeaton for all the help and for collabing with my scatterbrained self!**

 **She has this amazing story called High School Sweethearts and its just grade A good shit good shit go check it out! She just recently posted the second book as well, High School Sweethearts 2: Surprise, Surprise! It's gonna be awesomeeee! :D**

 **Don't forget to fave, follow, review to lemme know what you think (:**

 **xoxo Em**

* * *

 _It's late and I'm feeling so tired  
Having trouble sleeping.  
This constant compromise  
Between thinking and breathing._

Could it be I'm suffering  
Because I'll never give in?  
Won't say that I'm falling in love  
Tell me I don't seem myself  
Couldn't I blame something else?

Just don't say I'm falling in love

Trouble Sleeping, Corinne Bailey Rae

* * *

 **Jace**

Watching Alec and Magnus interact is just about the grossest thing I've ever witnessed.

Not gross in a bad way though. It's just that they're so touchy, one of them always keeping contact with the other; whether it's their hands clasped together, or their shoulders brushing. It's so incredibly obvious how in love they are, and it makes me wonder why I haven't gotten a cavity from being surrounded by all of the sweetness.

It's amazing how easily they fit into each other's lives, and how simple and smooth their relationship is. It's definitely something to be admired. They just mesh together so well, and the Alec before me is all heart eyes and shy smiles, so different to the parabatai I've grown up with. I like that Magnus makes him that happy. I can feel it coursing through our bond, the love that he has for the Warlock.

It makes me smile.

"Alexander," I hear Magnus giggle softly and see him sit down, legs crossed. "Let me work." He hangs his head and places his palms face up on his knees. Meditating?

"Fine, fine," Alec smiles softly and hangs his head bashfully. His too-long hair falls into his eyes like bangs, and he walks back to where I sit on a stone bench in the Institute's side courtyard. We're still waiting for Jonathan to join us, but I suppose he's probably gotten caught up talking to Isabelle.

It seems like everybody has someone to talk to, someone to vent to when they're upset. Jonathan and Izzy are growing closer every single day, and Alec is hardly ever around, always staying over at Magnus' place. It leaves me feeling cold and bereft. I wish that we had word on Clary. _Anything_ would be a step closer to brining her home, and that's all that I want at this point. I just want her safe.

" _Jace_."

I snap my head up at the sharp voice and find Alec's narrow blue eyes focused in on me.

"Yeah," I say to my parabatai, who has been talking to me for the past couple of minutes. I hadn't noticed. "Sorry."

"You need to stop doing that, Jace," he sighs and turns back forward on the bench. I don't even know how long I've been sitting here.

"Doing what?" I sigh and lean my elbows forward onto my knees.

"Brooding. Overthinking. Bitter."

"How do you know that?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Because, it causes stress. And when you're stressed, I feel it too," Alec says with a sad smile and taps the center of his chest.

"I'm sorry," I groan and hang my head down. _I can't even brood in bitter peace. It hurts him too._ "I know in the back of my mind that she's going to be just fine. She's strong, and brave. I just wish that she was here _now_ , with us like she's _supposed to be_. But she's not."

"Is that why you love her so much?" Alec asks. The words don't register immediately, and when they do, I sit up straight very slowly and look at him oddly. "What is it?"

"I think it's a bit too soon to be using _that_ word," I say with a nervous laugh. That would be like diving headfirst into completely uncharted territory with no compass to even get you back to camp.

"Well, you're quite infatuated with her," my parabatai shrugs. "You admire her courage and resilience. You care about her deeply enough to go running after her the second that she needs your help."

"Well yeah I admire her for all of those things, but that doesn't mean I _love_ her. I've only known her all of a _month_ ," I tell him, scrunching my eyebrows together. There's _no way_. I like her a lot, but not… I mean, I couldn't, right?

"I've only known Magnus for all of two months. I got over my own insecurities and fears and came out. And honestly I don't think I've ever felt happier in my entire life, you know?" He smiles and stands up, heading back towards Magnus who appears to be done meditating.

"I'm not gay though, Alec," I call after him. He stops halfway across the courtyard and turns his head to the side to project his voice towards me, a small laugh falling from his lips. It's a soft light sound that I've missed hearing from him.

"I know that. It's a relative comparison of denial, Jace."

And with that, he leaves me sitting here, completely dumbfounded.

* * *

 **Jon**

"Jonny!"

I'm making my way down the halls to the elevator—bless whoever installed it at the turn of the century—when Isabelle calls after me. Her voice is breathless and her heels click away as she comes running up to me, black hair swaying behind her like a swirl of tar. A smile immediately finds its way up onto my chapped lips at the excitement on her face.

"Hey, I need to talk to you for a minute," she says, coming to a stop in front of me.

"I'm supposed to be meeting Jace—" I try explaining to her, but she sits herself down in front of me and juts out her bottom lip.

"Just a minute of your time. I—I really need your advice," she says, running a hand through her long hair and settling it along the front of her shoulders. Her far-off eyes make it seem like she has a lot on her mind. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Jace didn't tell you?" I ask incredulously. Although, what should I expect from Jace? He probably didn't think it important that she should know. "Magnus is portaling us to Alicante. We're going to give Hodge Starkweather a visit."

"Oh," she murmurs. Her eyes widen slightly, as if something just came to her. " _Oh_ , about what he told Clary when the three of us went? Just before Valentine showed up? Before you showed up?"

"Yeah, I guess so. We need more answers, and he's a good start," I shrug and lean my elbow on one armrest and set my chin in my hand, staring down at her. "What was it that _you_ wanted to talk about?"

"Well it's not very important. You guys should be on your way," she says, blowing off her problem like ours is more important.

"I want to know. If there's something bugging you, tell me. Jace can wait a few more minutes," I tell her softly, letting her know that I'm _here_. I'm willing to listen to her _and_ help her if I can.

"Well, it's about my _father_ ," she says, rolling her eyes and clenching her jaw a little. "Everything about him lately has been setting me on edge. Even before he came parading in here with his cavalry, he was just so _off_ with you guys around. His whole demeanor changed completely way back before you even got here... **"** She pauses, taking a deep breath. "When he found out Clary was a Morgenstern."

"Well, what are you thinking? That he has an agenda?" I ask her, my interest completely piqued. That would explain his complete coldness towards the both of us, and his indifference to what his family thought when he arrested Clary.

"I definitely think that he has more of an investment in this all than pure _justice_ ," Isabelle says, spitting the word like it tastes bad in her mouth. "Because this **,** _this_ is _not justice_."

"I agree," I nod. "I think you should look into it."

" _Oh_ **,** I plan on it. My mom used to keep journals, I think. I remember a couple of months ago when we were doing some deep cleaning, I found a box of them. When I asked her she got defensive and blew it off as nothing and then put them away somewhere. But I think I know where they are. Or where they could be," she tells me, sitting up straighter, her eyes spinning with endless possibilities. "I think I can find answers there."

"I think that's a brilliant idea!" I smile, encouraging her. "You can see what she's written."

"I'll do that while you guys are gone," she says with a half smile. I hold my hand out to help her stand up and she takes it. Her long elegant fingers wrap around my wrist and mine around hers. Her hand slips away, catching in between my fingers as she gives them a squeeze.

"Don't get caught," I smile up at her. She rolls her eyes.

"I'm stealthy, like a cat. I won't," she grins. "Watch out with Hodge. I'm pretty sure he's the one that contacted Valentine when we visited him. He creeps me out."

"Don't worry kitty cat, we can take care of ourselves," I smirk, reveling in the blush that comes up on her cheeks. The fact that I can make her nervous makes _me_ nervous.

"Bye," she rolls her eyes and turns to go in the opposite direction. I turn myself around and watch her round the corner, a smile still on her face.

* * *

 **Isabelle**

 _Kitty cat._ I feel like a giggling idiot right now, all because of that idiot. I can't help it though. He makes my stomach twist itself in knots, a sensation I've _never_ felt before.

It doesn't settle until I come to a stop in front of the stairs to the attic. I know my parents keep an assortment of old documents there because they think that we won't look up there—it's so dirty for one, and that would usually keep me away. I don't like spiders or bugs or dust.

I head up the stairs anyways and find that the door at the top is locked. I begrudgingly take out my stele and carve a small unlocking rune at the bottom of the door, so it'll be less noticeable if my parents ever come back up here. Maybe I can take some nail polish to the door later to cover up the charred wood.

I push the door open and step into the musty room; it feels a lot mustier and humid than downstairs, and a flurry of dust picks up with the swing of the door, making me sneeze. I cover my mouth and nose with my sleeve while I pull out my witchlight.

It looks like I imagine any other attic would look like—dirty, crowded, _dirty_. Boxes are stacked in giant looming heaps. As looming as a 5 foot tall stack can get. I have to hunch over to walk forward without whacking my head on the low ceiling beams. Some of the boxes have words on them, so I hold my witchlight out to illuminate them. I follow the small pathway between boxes, quickly glancing over the labels and inside a few of them. _Kitchen. Baby clothes. Jace._

I kick aside a few dead bugs as I walk, trying not to think about them. I feel itchy just being up here, and the drooping spider webs don't make me feel any better. I'm glad I'm wearing jeans and a long sleeve though, even if I am a bit warm.

There's a window on the far side of the room, so as quickly as I can I pick my way over there so I can _hopefully_ open it and get a breath of fresh air. I'm also getting frustrated because I don't see anything that looks worthy of looking in. Everything has an inch of dust on it—not _literally,_ but it _is_ pretty bad—and looks like it hasn't been touched in years.

I finally make it to the small, grimy window and force it open with pure strength. A cool breeze rushes in and I inhale deeply, feeling my head clear a little bit. I roll my thin sleeves up and crouch down to inspect the boxes here. _Linens. Pictures. M.T._

The one labeled M.T. catches my eye; its smaller, a shoe box of sorts. It doesn't look nearly as old and dusty as the others, and the thick layer of dust that is settled around most of the boxes has been disturbed around this one.

I pull it closer to the window and find that inside are a few leather bound notebooks. _Journals._ I open one up and find _Maryse Trueblood_ written on the inside cover. That's my mother's maiden name. I smile widely and dig deeper in the box, counting six of them. Some are small and thin, while others are much thicker and heavier. The writing takes up the front and back of the pages in small looping letters. The paper feels old and the dates are from before Alec was even born. Before she was married to our father, even.

I sit down and lean against the wall, ignoring the fact that dust is getting all over my shirt. I lay them all out in front of me and look for the earliest dated entry—July 23rd, 1994. Two years before Alec was born. A year before she married my father. She was only 21, barely a few years older than Alec is now. She wrote about her days in great detail. What she did, what she wore, who she hung out with. My eyes skimmed over entry after entry, noticing how carefree she seemed to be. Almost _bubbly._ Nothing like the hardened warrior she is now.

An entire journal of my mother's life as a young adult- a fewnobody's that she briefly dated, sneaking out with friends. I find nothing of importance, but tales of her and her friends catch me off guard—Jia Penhallow, Eleanor Blackthorn, Celine Herondale, Jocelyn Morgenstern, and some other names that I don't recognize. Jia is like an aunt to me, as well as being the Consul. I know Eleanor Blackthorn is my distant friend Helen's stepmother—her real mother is of the Fey. They seemed to be a wild bunch, always sneaking off with a bottle of scotch and silly games that I've only ever heard of, Shadowhunter parties. And then there's Jace's mother, Celine. The way she talks about these people is as if she was friends with them all, like a little social butterfly. She even speaks of Celine with a sort of familial fondness, as if they were best friends.

 _Celine and Stephen's wedding was beautiful. So bright and vibrant—everything I want my wedding to be. They're so in love, and together they are stronger. I pray to the Angel that when my time comes to marry, I'm with someone that I truly love. Celine says that I'll get there, someday. I wish the best for her and her new life._

It's sweet, the amount of love showed in the words written about her friends. I suppose they were closer than I thought; it's probably the reason that she took Jace in with no qualms. I've never known this side of my mother.

I move onto the next journal—November of 1995. Just a month before my parents got married.

 _My parents have decided that I've waited too long to find somebody suitable to marry on my own. They want to take it upon themselves to set me up with somebody. I'm sure they would love that, setting me up with some strange man of their choosing. They want nothing more than a powerful family, a family with ties. I don't want that. I want love, and happiness. Not forced smiles for the public and hushed cries at night. I don't want that._

I read on with a deep frown on my face, my fingers running over the small crinkled circles—like dried tears on the page. Is this how my parents met? Because it was all arranged? Even in the 90's, Shadowhunter society was still pretty medieval. It's _disturbing._ I mean, my parents have never been very affectionate, but I always just thought that was their personalities.

 _They've finally set me up. His name is Robert, and I can't say that I'm as angry with my parents as I was before. I met him briefly the other day in Alicante, and he seems nice enough—and he's cute. It's not like we're set to marry this month; they just want me to go on a date with him and see how it goes. I've decided to go along with it, because it's not as bad as it could be. I still have some choice in the matter._

 _I'm going to visit him in New York City next week, where his family heads the Institute. New York City! I've never left Idris besides a few short trips to other Institutes across Western Europe, so to be able to leave and visit a whole new place excites me. If this has to be the way that things are, then I'm glad it's him. I hope it goes well._

On and on she goes about my father—she seems to have really liked him. She was _okay_ with being set up with him. I guess if she was happy, then that's alright. But what happened? What changed her from this bubbly personality into the no-nonsense demeanor I've grown up with?

It's going to take me a while to get through these journals—especially the bigger ones. I stand and dust myself off the best that I can before replacing the lid on the small box. I shut the window and crouch down under the rafters. I feel an immediate sense of relief once I'm out of the attic and in the cool hallway. I just hope that my mom's not home yet; that would be _very_ bad. She doesn't appreciate sneaking around.

I'm nearly to my room when I hear footsteps echoing from the adjoining hall; like a pair of boots. I'm not close enough to my room to make a run for it, and the footsteps are just around the corner. Thinking as quickly as I can, I whip off my dusty sweater, leaving me in just a tank top. I lay it over the small box and continue on towards my room casually. That way she won't see that it's _her_ box.

I'd give myself an A for ingenuity.

"Iz!" I turn around and see my brother along with Magnus walking towards me, Magnus' boots clicking on the wood. It was just _Magnus_. I sigh and wait for them to catch up.

"Why are you half naked, Isabelle?" Magnus asks, one artfully sculpted and filled in eyebrow raised. I'll have to ask him what sort of brow makeup he uses, it looks amazing.

"I thought you were my mom," I tell him, pointing my toe at his shoes in explanation. "You guys won't believe what I found in the attic."

"What did you find?" Alec asks suspiciously. I grab his arm and tote him along towards my room. I glance back atMagnus.

" _Well_ , aren't you coming?" I ask him with both of my eyebrows raised. I'm going to need both of them to help me out with this if I want to get through all of these journals before the boys get home.


	3. Chapter 3: Getting Nowhere

**Oh my gosh this chapter was so terribly hard to write. But thankfully, I had JMDeaton to help me out so so so much! I would probably still hate this chapter if she didn't help revise and change things around. You're seriously a life saver dude! Thank you so much. Check out her stuff, it's great all human Clace :D**

 **Don't forget to review and tell me what you think! Song recommendations are also always welcome (: Enjoy!**

 **xoxo Em**

* * *

 _I keep using my energy_

 _Pushing and shoving my way to please  
Almost there, almost there  
Feel like we've been getting nowhere  
Almost there, almost there  
Feel like we've been getting nowhere_

Almost there, almost there  
Well...

Electronic world, supersonic girl  
We keep holding onto nothing  
We keep typing, we're not talking  
We lose endlessly, world won't get by me  
I feel like I'm onto something  
We keep moving, we're not there yet

Getting Nowhere, Magnetic Man ft. John Legend

* * *

 **Jace**

"You know, that doesn't look too comfortable," I tell Jonathan as he wheels his way across the cobbled street. It's just like every other street we've come down on the way to Hodge Starkweather's shop: uneven, full of large cracks and missing stones, and sharp edges. "Plus, I have no clue what to do if you pop a tire. I don't think Alicante has a wheelchair repair shop. Hell, I don't think there's even a bicycle shop," I laugh.

"You know, your humor peaks at the weirdest times," Jonathan replies dryly. I can tell that he's nervous about meeting Starkweather, but I've already been through the entire process with his nonsense ramblings and the creepy staring. "Besides, if a tire pops, you'll be carrying me like a pretty lil princess," he adds on with a cheeky grin

"By the Angel, you would make a _hideous_ princess. I don't think all the wax in the world could make your hairy legs smooth enough for a dress," I muse, smirking at him sideways. We cross another street and turn the corner onto a much narrower one. Hodge Starkweather's shop sits on the right, tucked away between an antique store and a shop with wilted flowers in the window. It looks a lot more run down than the other buildings surrounding it, with a dilapidated roof and a cracked window in the front.

"Shut up, I'd be beautiful," he grumbles, but his heart isn't in it. Any humor that peaked just a minute ago is gone in an instant. I grab onto the handles of his hair and tilt his wheels up over the curb and onto the side walk. Alicante is not very handicap accessible.

"Should we knock?" He asks, looking back at me. I roll my eyes and step around him to open the door.

"It's a bookshop, you just go in," I tell him. He shrugs and rolls in through the door that I hold open, a bell tinkling on the door.

"Well, _I_ don't know I've never been in here," he snaps irritably.

"Relax," I sigh, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine. We got this."

"Yeah, of course. We've got this," he says, the breath leaving in a deep sigh. He inhales and sits up straighter, a determined look crossing his face.

"Just a moment!" A voice calls from somewhere in the back of the store. I feel a flash of déjà vu as the stout old man comes running out from the back, just as eager for visitors as before. The second he rounds the corner and his eyes land on me, he's gasping and turning right back around. I dart forward and grab the back of his shirt, yanking him towards me.

"Where do you think you're going? It's rude to leave guests waiting," I laugh humorlessly and roughly shove him towards the front room where Jon is waiting. He sits with his hands folded in his lap, watching up with sharp green eyes, just like Clary's.

Hodge regains his balance and one look at Jonathan has him spiraling into a fit.

"Valen—no, dead. He's dead. Right? By the Angel, help me," he stutters, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. He looks so small and pale and absolutely _terrified_. It seems like Valentine had a much stronger hold over this small man than I thought. But for him to be so startled by Jonathan who is generally a kind person and _nothing_ like Valentine - besides his hair and physical build - makes me want to laugh, but I choke it down when I turn my back to them and lock the shop door.

"Mr. Starkweather," Jonathan nods, his gaze never wavering while Starkweather's darts everywhere and focuses anywhere but on Jon. "You knew my father. Most people say that I am a striking resemblance of him. But what you don't see is we don't share anything more than DNA and the same hair color. I am not a monster. I am not manipulative. I am not here to hurt you. But I have questions that I need answers to, and you _will_ answer them for me."

His voice is so calm and neutral, borderline friendly, but there's a sharp undertone, and I know that if Hodge doesn't answer Jonathan's questions, then I'll have to shake him up a bit more. That's if the poor old bastard doesn't have a heart attack before then. Judging by the way that he's shaking under Jonathan's gaze, it's a possibility.

"Y-yes, of course. You must be Jonathan," he stammers, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a time-worn handkerchief that probably _used_ to be white. "I will assist you in any way that I can."

I roll my eyes and bite my tongue. Last time he did no such thing; hell, I'm almost positive that he sent word to Valentine that we were here, that Clary was here. And the second that Valentine came back into her life is the exact moment that her life started to spiral out of control, farther and farther from her control. I casually circle the room, running my finger along the spines of the dusty books lining the shelves.

"So then tell me what exactly my father was planning on doing with my sister," Jon demands in a sharp, demanding tone. Gone is the calm and collected diplomat, and there is the man wanting answers for his family.

"I don't know what Valentine wanted," Hodge says quickly. Much too quickly for him to be telling the truth. I turn my back on the books and step up next to the old man before grasping him firmly by the shoulder farthest from me, like an intimidating half hug.

"Now you don't wanna lie to us, Starkweather. You mislead Clary and I, and I won't let that happen again. Got it?" I ask before patting him on the back roughly, which makes him lurch forward another step.

"But, I didn't mislead you. I wouldn't dare do that to a Morgenstern," he tells me earnestly before turning back to Jon. "I swear on the Angel."

"If you didn't mislead us, then what did you mean?" I ask skeptically. Jonathan sits back and watches as Hodge's eyes dart between the both of us.

"Well, tell him!" Jon snaps, making the older man flinch.

"I told you about a prophecy," Hodge says. "I didn't lie about that or mislead you."

"No, you just said some nonsense and kept us here until Valentine got here, and I'm pretty sure you're the one that tipped him off," I grill him, stepping closer and leaning down so that we're eye level. "So you might want to start talking."

"Right, of course. It might be best if you come sit down, it may take a while to explain what I do know. Which is very limited, might I add."

"We're fine right here," Jonathan tells him, sitting back in his chair and getting comfy, his elbows resting at his sides and his fingertips templed together. There's something extremely calculated about the stance, like he's trying to gauge the room from afar. I suppose he is; he's always so determinedly calculated in everything he does, especially when it comes to composing and presenting himself in a certain way. He exudes the sort of aura that demands respect when needed, like now. He has the situation perfectly controlled, and Hodge is starting to realize that there's no getting out of can't run from a Morgenstern. "So start talking."

* * *

 **Jon**

I have him right where I want him. The old man is sweating bullets and fidgeting around, his eyes never staying too long in any one particular place. It brings disgust. Not in Starkweather, but in myself.

I'm not particularly proud of acting so superior and manipulating people to get the answers I'm looking for, but we do need them. And quickly, might I add. This all reminds me of something that my father would do. I know the old man isn't really intimidated by me because of _me_ , but rather who I was raised by. Who I _could_ be, not who I _am_. Even from his eternally damned resting place at the crossroads, he is still influencing my life in some way or another. I can't escape him.

"As I said before, I don't know much about it. I am not a mystic, I'm just a simple historian. I don't know what is true, and what is false. I just know what I've found in books so I don't even know all of it, but I will tell you everything that I told your father when he came to me," he says, slowly walking to a chair piled high with books, and gently setting them on the ground. He continues clearing the chair and then swiping a handkerchief over the old cloth to remove the dust.

"Please, do proceed with your spring cleaning," Jace drawls sarcastically from his stance of lazily leaning against one of the bookshelves. I roll my eyes and watch as the old man sits down and nervously looks between us both. I nod and watch him for any signs of lying.

"Right, then. This… _prophecy_ comes from unknown sources, and its validity is questionable at _best_. It is vague, and confusing. I don't know how else to put it to you boys, but even I have my own doubts about it actually being _real_." Hodge takes a deep breath. "It mentioned a Shadowhunter of pure lineage, someone who would experience the sort of grief that would break others," he says, cautious with his words. "But this Shadowhunter is different. He or she is supposed to have extraordinary powers unlike anything _we've_ ever seen. Powers known only to the angels."

"Is that it?" I ask skeptically, and narrow my eyes at him. That can't be all of it.

"Of course not," he grumbles before taking _another_ deep breath and continuing. "The Shadowhunter will supposedly find something that was once lost, and that will strengthen them. He or she will also, well for lack of better words, find their soulmate and their power will grow threefold."

" _Soulmates_?" I scoff. He's completely correct, it sounds like a farce. Shadowhunters don't _have_ soulmates, at least as far as I know. We're too busy fighting and dying to truly focus on love and family. We don't have that luxury in the lives we lead.

"As I said, the credibility is questionable. _But_ , your father had an interest in this little tall tale. Surely that holds some weight with you, Jonathan," he says slowly. His beady eyes watching me closely, probably waiting for any signs that I might actually _believe_ his stories.

The truth is that I don't know _what_ to believe at all, and seeing as how Hodge Starkweather isn't exactly on the top of my list of credibility, I'm left back at square one; being wheeled around Alicante with a brooding Jace and no clue where to go from here.

Most Shadowhunters are born of pure lineage, and many of them that come from stronger lines are better hunters, and that's just how the dice fall. Some families carry more favorable traits, while others pass on the more unfavorable ones, just like Mundanes. It's a survival of the fittest, and sometimes the purer bloodlines have a little bit more angel blood in them. That's just how genetics work.

And as for the _soulmates_ bit that the old cook spieled… I don't believe it for a second. This isn't some Mundane book where the story ends with the couple living happily ever after. This is the Shadowhunter world, where we die every day and are brought up just as quickly; to kill demons and continue the loop that we call life.

None of it makes sense, and it leaves me with a headache that rivals an earthquake. I wish I could just go home, take a nap, and wake up in an alternate universe where Clary is home safe and sound, Isabelle notices me, and I can walk again.

But then again, that's not how Shadowhunters work. Or life, for that matter.

"What did you think about all of that?" Jace suddenly asks once we've made it around the corner. It startles me out of my thoughts and makes me grunt a little in surprise.

"Not much at all. It sounded fake," I sigh, letting my head fall into my hand. We've wasted an entire day here in Alicante, chasing dead ends. "What'd _you_ think?"

"It sounded," Jace pauses, mulling over his words. " _Weird._ Different for sure, but I don't know. There was something about what he said that felt _right_."

"I don't know, Jace," I groan, becoming slightly frustrated. Surely he's not buying into that confusing mess that Starkweather was spewing, without _any_ proof. Where did that man even come across this sort of thing? I ponder the possibilities. What if the original source could somehow be found? I don't know where we could even begin to search for something of that nature. Well, maybe I _do._ "I do however know someone who might, though. Or at least have _access_ to something a little more tangible than _that,_ " I scoff while gesturing with my head towards the small bookstore.

She's the only person that I can think of that will be able to find out anything close to what we need and should be able to shine some light on whether this is real or not; and I _know_ she'll help us. My only problem is tracking her down since she's always on the move; like smoke.

For the sake of our sanity, I hope that I can find her, and soon.


	4. Chapter 4: Wherever I Go

**Okay really though where does the time go? I used to be able to update weekly but I just can't seem to keep up with all the other stories I have going on Wattpad Dx**

 **I'm really sorry updates are so slow, it's been a month ):**

 **I hope you enjoy anyways, and don't forget to review whatcha think about it (:**

 **Thanks JMDeaton for all the help as always (:**

* * *

 _I know I could lie, but I won't lie to you_  
 _Wherever I go, you're the ghost in the room_  
 _I don't even try looking for something new_  
 _Cause wherever I go, I'll be looking for you_

 _Some people try but they can't find the magic_  
 _Others get down on their knees and they pray_  
 _I come alive when I'm close to the madness_  
 _No easy love could ever make me feel the same_  
 _Make me feel the same_  
 _Make me feel the same, same, same_

Wherever I Go, OneRepublic

* * *

 **Jace**

These past few days at the manor have been a living hell, to say the least. With every corner I turn, I'm plagued with reminders of the girl that was ripped away from us. Her art plasters the walls of the Manor, the dark hues and heavy brushstrokes obviously her signature style. I can't get a break from the thoughts and dreadful feelings that infect my head and soul. I know that Clary's strong, and wherever she is, she's fine. _But, I'm not._

Coming to terms with this feeling of helplessness has been eating me alive, but I have to accept it. I'm not alright. I'm scared out of my mind for her. I can hardly sleep or eat, although I try to force down what my body needs to keep up with the exhaustion that I'm bringing on with countless hours of research and digging.

I miss her. I miss her sarcastic responses and her excessive eye rolling. I miss the attitude that she brings with her everywhere she goes. I need that right now. I need her company and her fiery strong will.

All that I'm getting from being in this place is a watered down version of Clary, that even she probably wouldn't recognize. She's not the same person that she was when she inhabited this place, and that's part of the reason why I've stayed away from her room entirely. I don't want to disturb it.

But curiosity and that closeness that I crave is cracking away at my brittle shell, and I find myself wandering the large lonely manor on my own, my hands trailing over the bright artwork on the wall that tells me a story of a younger, more naïve who was all talk, someone who hadn't experienced the pain of loss yet. Someone bright and happy, deaf to the outside world from so long living inside the walls of this fortress that her father created.

I find myself standing in front of her door with the reasoning that a peek won't hurt anything. Maybe it'll make me feel better. _Anything's_ better than this emptiness. I turn the cold metal knob and gently swing the door open. Light green walls greet me, tacked up pieces of paper with sketches adorning much of the space. I find myself breathing a little bit easier, as I step into the room and close the door softly behind me. It's more open, and much brighter than the rest of the house. It feels more peaceful, even with the slight mess left behind. The bed is unmade and the sheets are strewn all over, with half of the blanket on the ground. Clary's always so neat, so to see this tells me that she was comfortable here.

I walk around the room, taking in all of the different sketches on the walls, some of them looking familiar, like the garden out back, or the gleaming demon towers of Alicante. Even for quick drafts, they're beautiful. I've never been able to draw, the only fine arts skill I have is the ability to play the piano, and that's because my parents drilled it into me from a young age, before they died. I guess it always just stuck with me; it's not something I particularly enjoy or dislike.

But the way that Clary draws, with her entire heart and soul, is something to be admired. With every smudge of charcoal, or line of a pencil, comes a deeper meaning that I can't decipher; it's like she infuses her work with her soul. You can tell just by looking at any one piece of hers that she put in all of her concentration and good will into it. She's so _dedicated._ Just as dedicated as she is to Shadowhunting, and I have no clue how she does it. She's _definitely_ something else.

I take a seat on her unkempt bed, and lay back, my feet still planted on the ground. I feel like a lovesick puppy being here, pining over the girl who doesn't want anything more than a platonic friendship. I can't pin down exactly what it is that makes me feel this way - like a hopeless romantic - because it seems like every single thing that this girl does, gets to me.

My mind seems to always go back to the talk that I had with Alec the other day. No matter how much I try to shake it off and tell myself that it's a stupid crush, his words appear to hold a certain weight of truth to them.

I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like all that I do is whine and complain, but with absolutely nothing to do but wait for Jonathan's friend to get back to us. So in the mean time I'm just left to stew in my thoughts. It can't be healthy for a person.

Then again, nothing about being a Shadowhunter _is_ healthy.

A resounding knock echoes through the manor, and I jolt up, my heart pounding and my thoughts jumbled; I guess I fell asleep. I push through the vertigo as I quickly make my way out of Clary's room and into the hallway. I have a dagger in my boot, but my weapons belt is downstairs. I race through the possible options - the Clave, maybe. Or perhaps it's a stray Downworlder, looking for a possibly empty mansion to rob. Whoever it is, it's not a door-to-door salesman.

When I come down the stairs, I hear Jonathan laughing and relax a little bit. When I round the corner into the foyer, a woman not much older than Jonathan stands there smiling down at Jon warmly. She's leaned over, hugging Jon. Neither of them have noticed me, and I watch on with amusement.

"Jonathan," I hear her say, a bright happy smile on her face. "You're so _big_! You're not a little boy anymore, you're a _man_ now!"

"Aunt Tess," he laughs, sounding pretty embarrassed. "Well, I may have grown up, but you haven't changed a single bit."

"Oh, stop it," the woman laughs, stepping back. Her eyes trail up and she sees me over Jonathan's head. When our eyes meet, she looks genuinely shocked, and I have to wrack my brain, because I'm positive that I've never met this woman before. Why does she look so surprised? I walk forward, my boots squeaking on the tiled floors, alerting Jonathan to my presence.

"Are you alright, Tessa?" Jonathan asks sounding genuinely concernedand turns his head, giving me a small wave.

"That's _Aunt_ Tessa to you," the regal woman scolds him teasingly before turning to me. "I'm Tessa Gray, Jonathan's Godmother."

"Jace Lightwood," I tell her with a nod. Her eyebrows furrow and she watches me closely. Something about her heavy gaze makes me feel uncomfortable, like she's scrutinizing my every move, and I don't know _why_.

* * *

 **Jon**

"So what are we doing here, boys?" Tessa asks, looking around the place. It must have been longer than I thought since she's been here.

"Well, Clary's been taken by the Clave on some very _serious_ charges. And we haven't heard anything from _anybody_ for nearly two weeks, and honestly, we're starting to worry," I tell her, and watch as her face falls and her eyebrows come together.

"What is she being charged with?" She asks, all traces of joking gone from her voice; she's all business, now.

"Treason," Jace tells her. "Clary has these… _abilities_. She can create runes that nobody has ever seen before, and she's- there's just something different about her."

"I always knew Clary was different," Tess muses. "And of _course,_ the Clave sees that as _bad._ Clary's a good girl."

"Exactly. And we all know what happens to Shadowhunters who are found _guilty_ of treason," I tell her. "So we've been digging and digging, but we can't figure out where she is. We know someone that has connections high up in the Clave, but they can't seem to find anything out either.

"I wouldn't worry about _that_. That Clave likes to make an example of those who cross them, or are _different_ from them. They won't do anything without a big, public trial," Tessa scoffs. She seems _pissed._ "I can't believe them. They're so _bigoted_ and corrupt."

"That's why we've been pursuing other leads," I announce, glancing at Jace. He nods in agreement.

"We want to know what motivated Valentine to do what he done. He _had_ to have had a reason, and we found someone who worked for him, briefly. His name was Hodge Starkweather." Tessa looks a little shocked when I mention Starkweather, so I prod her. "Did you know him?"

"Not personally, no. But I knew the family, back in my days," she says, her eyes growing distant. "What did you find?"

"A load of crap, if you ask me," I scoff and roll my eyes. Jace elbows me roughly and I just shrug.

"He said something about a prophecy, but it had questionable sources," Jace informs her, and continues on to explain it to Tessa. She listens diligently, taking in the information and nodding.

"You want me to find this prophecy?" She asks and chews on her lip, nervously.

"You're the only person we know with access to the Spiral Labyrinth," I say, hoping that she'll agree. She nods and sighs deeply.

"I could try. But you don't understand how _big_ the place is. It's never ending, and the filing system sucks," she tells us skeptically. "But, I'll try."

"Maybe you could create a Google for Warlocks," I grin, knowing that she'll have no clue what that is. She's been around for over a century, but she's still quite a bit behind technologically.

"Whatever _that_ is," she rolls her eyes, and playfully smacks my arm before straightening up and hushing us when we try to ask what's going on. "Someone's trying to portal onto the property."

* * *

 **Tessa**

The boys immediately jump into action, and I quickly grab both of them by the arms and push them behind me as I make my way to the window. Blue sparks are crackling at the end of the pathway leading up to the house, and I smile at the familiarity.

"It's alright," I tell them, urging them to sit down. "It's Magnus Bane. I'm sure you know of him."

"He's dating my parabatai," Jace murmurs, watching as a beautiful woman with long black hair and dark, smoldering eyes steps through the portal. She's a spitting image of Maryse Lightwood, from what I can tell from here.

"What are they doing here?" Jonathan mutters under his breath, but smiles when the girl walking up the path waves at us through the window. I know _that_ smile. That's the sort of smile you give someone that has you completely wrapped around their little finger. I've seen it before.

"Who's the pretty young lady?" I ask him knowingly. He rolls his eyes up at me, pleading me not to go there. "I know you, boy. Don't try hiding it."

A boy that looks like he could be the girls twin is standing near the portal, glancing around, scanning the area. Then, in an overly dramatic flourish, Magnus Bane steps through the portal. With the snap of his fingers it's gone and he's taking the other boy by the hand, dragging him up the pathway.

Jace and Jonathan are gone, presumably to open the door, so I slowly make my way to the foyer, giving them their own time to greet their friends. When I turn the corner I'm thrown into shock for the second time today. A pair of crystalline blue eyes stare at me and I feel like I've been taken completely back, to a time where a similar pair of eyes gazed on me with annoyance, and later adoration. And with the dark hair and the high cheekbones, I have to quickly compose myself so that I don't make a fool of myself.

"Tessa!" A booming voice calls, and pushes through the gathering in the foyer to envelop me in a delicate hug.

"Hello, Magnus," I laugh and hug him back, tightly.

"You okay, darling? You look like you've seen a ghost," he cackles quietly at his own joke.

"Have you _seen_ your boyfriend? He looks just like him," I whisper as he pulls away.

"Alas, _these_ Lightwood's get it from _Cecily_ ," he grins and pats me on the cheek.

"What are you two going on about?" The girl asks, looking between the two of us.

"My apologies. I'm Tessa Gray," I greet them. "Jonathan's Godmother."

"I'm Isabelle Lightwood, and this is my brother Alec. I guess you already know Magnus," Isabelle says, trailing off awkwardly.

"How about we all go sit down in the living room?" Jonathan suggests, and I can hear Jace asking his parabatai what they're doing here.

"I'll make some tea while you guys catch up," I smile and step into the kitchen, making myself busy. I can hear their chattering through the open archway, and smile when I hear mentions of journals. I remember when I used to keep a journal as a child, back in New York. It sort of stopped when I moved to London, however.

"Hey, do you need any help?" I jump a little, and turn to find Isabelle standing there with raised eyebrows.

"Don't let her cook anything!" Jace yells, and I laugh a little.

"If you could find some sugar, sure." I tell her as the kettle begins to steam. She nods and begins to look through the cabinets as I set the tea to steep.

"Do you know if Jocelyn kept a journal?" She asks suddenly. I glance over and watch her as she rummages around. "From what Jon has said, you two were close."

"That we were. I knew she kept one when she was younger. I don't know about _after_ she married Valentine," I tell the young girl as she sets a canister of sugar on the counter. "Why?"

"I've found that personal records are an _awesome_ insight into people's minds," she tells me with a small grin. "Do you know where she might have kept them?"

"I'm not sure, but I can take a look around, if you'd like," I tell her and set the mugs on an old wooden tray that I found.

"That would be great," she chirps and pours some sugar into a small bowl before handing it to me. "Thank you."

I carry the tray out with the younger gal following behind me. Once I set the tray down, she goes about making a cup with lots of sugar and handing it to Jonathan. He thanks her and blows on the hot liquid before trying it and smiling widely at her. I watch the small exchange with a little grin of my own. Isabelle is still crouched in front of him, and they chat idly, her hand resting on his knee. It's cute the way that she bats her long eyelashes at him, and how he leans forward to speak.

I turn my attention back towards Magnus and Alec, who are cuddled up on the love seat across from me. Magnus' yellow cat eyes sparkle as Alec speaks to him, before bursting out in a grandiose laugh. He's so over-the-top, even now. It's refreshing to see that some things don't change, but it also saddens me to see just how much I've missed out on. Jonathan is a grown man now, and Clary is nearly there as well.

It makes me wonder what _else_ I've missed out on in my absence. Time just seems to slip away. It's something that I've developed a deep, personal relationship with. I know how to make it go by quicker, and how to be patient. I can keep busy with study and research, and no rest in between. That's what I've _been_ doing the past few years, trying to find answers. Answers for _him_.

But in that time that I've been under the radar, throwing my heart and soul into research, I've missed so much that I should have been present for. I should have been there for Clary when the Clave sent her out on her own. I should have been there when Valentine tried to kill Clary, when Jonathan was injured.

One sure thing that I've learned throughout the years is that the past is in the past, and that it does _not_ do to dwell on that. It can't be changed, and we have to live with the choices that we've made and learn to find the good in every single shadow. You never know when something good may come about and change it all; that's what I've learned through my many years ofexperience, anyways. You can't fight it, and you can't escape it. You can only embrace it and keep moving forward.

I find myself rummaging the house that I used to visit so often, searching for Jocelyn's old journals, and anything else that could help give an insight to Jocelyn and Valentine's life - the private parts that I did not witness.

She changed a lot after she married Valentine, and I'm not so sure it was for the better. She wasn't the same bold flame-haired Shadowhunter that I met when she was younger. As time passed she became much more reserved, and quiet. Not at all like the girl I remembered, but even after her betrothal, we stayed in contact. I helped her through both pregnancies and stood in as her midwife, even when Valentine insisted on someone else. He insisted that she had someone more qualified, in case something was to happen or go wrong. Truth be known, I honestly don't think he ever particularly _liked_ me, but more or less tolerated me, if only for Jocelyn's sake. It was a surprise when he allowed me to be the kids' Godmother, but since it was a Mundane tradition and not a Shadowhunter one, I don't think he really cared.

It all stopped sometime after Clary's 12th birthday. Valentine thought that I came around too often, and that I was trying to intrude on their lives. That was not the case, but Valentine saw me as a threat either way. I should have noticed the onset of his paranoia. But, I didn't. I didn't even care enough to pay that sort of attention to the man my best friend married - if he didn't make the effort to get to know me, why would I get to know him?

For that, I'll never forgive myself. I can't do anything about _that,_ but I can try to help the kids. And if what they need right now is for me to help him scour this house for anything that could help them better understand Valentine, then I'll do just that; starting with Jocelyn's journals. I know she used to write in hers every day before she married, and I just pray that she kept up the habit afterwards.

I take my time in her bedroom, checking underneath the bed and in between the mattress, even in her closet, but all I find are shoeboxes filled with… well, shoes. Nothing exciting. I'm covered in the dust that has settled over the home in the past few years, and I feel a sneeze coming on. I'm making my way out of the small confined closet so that I don't upset even _more_ dust when the toe of my boots snag and I stumble out. The sheer surprise knocks the sneeze right out of me and I quickly catch myself and crouch down, inspecting the floor.

One of the panels of the wooden flooring is just slightly raised so that it's not flush with the others, and I press down on it. It creaks and when I knock on it, I grin widely. It's hollow. I try to use my fingers to pry it up, but it's no use with my short, brittle nails. I carefully take the dagger that I keep with me at all times, out of my boot and gently use it to pry open the flooring.

I don't see anything in the dark opening in the floor, and I would be lying if I told myself that I wasn't wary to stick my hand in and feel around in the insulation. With the tip of the knife, I move around the fluff. I don't find anything right away. I lean in closer and reach farther back, pushing the fluff to the side.

My heart stutters and then continues to pound against my sternum when I see a patch of brown leather. I dig my hand in and snatch it out quickly, when I feel something tickling my hand. If there's one thing I'm still afraid of after all these years, it's spiders. I sit back and turn the brown book over in my hands. I flip it open to the first page, smiling at the dates on them. These are from when she was younger, when she was the age that I'm forever stuck at. I kneel down and snap my fingers, producing a small flame of light in my palm, lighting the hole in the boards. I reach and pull out a couple more that look similar to the original before skimming through them.

They all date back farther- as far back as _before_ she even started dating Valentine, which is much farther than I need, but it's a start. I return the board to its place and gently settle the dagger back into my boot. With the dusty old journals in arm, I make my way back downstairs, happy to have found what I need so that I can make my appointment on time.

* * *

" _It has been too long."_ His voice invades my mind, only for a second. His quietness doesn't startle me anymore; it's almost like he appears out of thin air sometimes.

"It's only been a year," I smile softly. "That was our agreement."

" _Time is fleeting."_

"That it is," I sigh and turn to face him. Even now, with Marks marring his gaunt face and his eyes and lips sealed shut - bar the classic stitching - he's beautiful. "I'm sorry I've been so absent."

" _It is a useless battle, Theresa_." His presence is harsh and sure in my mind. I flinch at the use of my full Christian name. I haven't heard anybody call me _Theresa_ in decades.

I shake my head and let a dry laugh pass my lips. "Is that really _me_ though, Jem? You can't expect me to _give up_."

" _Do not waste your time."_ Although I cannot hear his _voice_ , I can feel the plea in my mind.

"It will never be a waste of my time. _You're not a waste of my_ _time_ ," I press, clenching my hands into fists on the bench underneath us. People walk all around us, unseeing, unhearing. Time may have changed the bridge so much, but people remain blind. I am not blind to the way that he always seems to distance himself with each passing year we meet.

" _Your tenacity has not changed,"_ he tells me, and his words feel softer. Almost like a compliment. I jump a bit when I feel his hand brush against mine. He leaves his marred hand there, our pinkies barely brushing together.

"Nor will it ever," I murmur, wishing that I could pull him closer to me. Wishing that he could settle the fire in my stomach. Always wishing. Always knowing that it won't happen.

" _What is troubling you?"_ He asks after a few moments of silence. He could just push a little farther and see it all, but he never does. He would never invade me like that.

"My Goddaughter,she is in need of help and I have no clue what to do," I sigh. "The Clave is still not fond of those who are _different_. They won't even tell us where she _is._ "

" _What has she done?"_

"She killed a monster. She saved people's lives. She's done nothing wrong," I tell him, my voice tight with annoyance. Even now, after all this time, the Clave is filled with a bunch of judgmental old cucks. "I just don't get _why._ She should be revered as a _hero_ for taking out her father. He was so malicious."

" _Father?"_ He asks me, sounding almost shocked. " _What is the girls name?"_

"Clary. Clarissa Morgenstern," I clarify, watching his never moving face. He's impossible to read, but the shock in his voice shocks _me._

 _"I know where she is."_

"Are you serious? Of course you're serious, you never kid. I could kiss you right now, Jem!" I nearly cry with a huge smile on my face, my heart lifting with hope, and my hand grasping onto his. _She's okay._ _She's got to be. or She's got to be if Jem knows where she is, right?_

 _"If only the circumstances were different, Tess."_ It feels like a sigh, but I swear that I see the slightest twitch of his lips upwards.

If only.


	5. Chapter 5: Dear Agony

**The long awaited chapter! Finally, we see what's up with Clary! Don't forget to review for me and tell me what ya think (:**

 **Thank you so much JMDeaton as always, and for the awesome song recs!**

* * *

 _Dear Agony_  
 _Just let go of me_  
 _Suffer slowly_  
 _Is this the way it's gotta be?_  
 _Dear Agony_

 _Suddenly_  
 _The lights go out_  
 _Let forever_  
 _Drag me down_  
 _I will fight for one last breath_  
 _I will fight until the end_

Dear Agony, Breaking Benjamin

* * *

 **Clary**

Days and days pass, slower than ever. I do anything that I can think of to keep myself occupied - workouts, counting, even using my fingers to draw in the dirt that seems to cover everything in this cell. It's hard to do anything else when half of the time the torch is nearly burnt into darkness. I've never been afraid of the dark. I kill the things that move in the night for a living, so it doesn't usually phase me. But the dark crevices of the hallway beyond my cell, and the odd noises that seem to filter down here every so often, make my skin crawl.

At some point, a Silent Brother comes back down, but this time he's accompanied by Shadowhunters. _Clave_ Shadowhunters by the looks of their uniforms. My heart leaps _almost_ in hope _._ Am I _finally_ leaving this place? Am I being given my trial?

"What's going on?" I ask them, my voice high pitched and crackly from the lack of use. I clear my throat and step back from the door as a Silent Brother steps forward and opens it with a soft push. Again, it a **s** if it had never been locked. The two Shadowhunters step into the cell, and before I even have the chance to _comply,_ I'm being thrown to the ground, a knee pressing uncomfortably into my back. I don't struggle as they put binding runes onto my wrists and yank me back up to my feet. "I would have let you put the runes on. You didn't need to tackle me," I tell them snarkily, feeling the fire that's coursing back through my veins.

"Shut up," one of them demands and shoves me forward.

"No need to be rude," I mutter and follow the Silent Brother in front of me. We twist and turn all throughout the underground city, and I can't tell if we've gone deeper underground, or up because of all the inclines and declines. It's just as disorienting as the lack of natural light.

We end up in the cavernous room with the speaking stars, and I know that I'm close to freedom. So close.

"Start running," one of the Shadowhunters says. I turn towards them and raise my eyebrows curiously.

"Pardon?" I ask, leaning forward a little bit.

"I said run. Take laps," he barks, using his finger to gesture in a circle around the room.

I scoff and shift my weight to one leg, pushing my hip out. "Why?"

"Because, the Clave wants tests done. Just do it," the guy says, sounding exasperated.

"Unbind me, I can't run with my hands behind my back," I roll my eyes. He sighs heavily and comes over to me, carving a releasing rune over my previous binding ones. I let my arms fall forward and stretch them out in front of me.

And then I start running laps. Dozens and dozens of them around the big room, my breathing never faltering from its steady pace. My muscles stretch and expand as I go, and I begin feeling better by the moment, like they're finally breathing again. I don't do well confined without any training, I _need_ to keep moving, keep pushing myself.

"So, what's up, what is all this?" I ask the guys standing off to the side with a Brother. They seem to be writing something down. "What kind of a test is this, anyways? To see how long I can go before tripping and falling on my face?"

"Something along those lines," he sighs. "Now just run."

"Clave ordered?" I prod.

"Obviously," one of them scoffs in a tone that says _what do you think?_ It makes me roll my eyes at all the attitude.

By the time my breathing starts to get a bit heavier, I've ran _several_ miles. Neither the Silent Brother nor the Shadowhunters speak to me. It becomes tedious as the time drags on, and I wonder how long I'm supposed to do this. It's like some sick cosmic joke playing on a loop, and I can't find the damn exit.

 _"You may stop,"_ a voice speaks into my head. I shudder and slow down my pace, eventually coming to a stop in front of the two Shadowhunters and the Silent Brother that has accompanied them.

"What's next?" I ask, eager to get something done. If they want to test me, fine. Test me. At least it keeps me out of those disgusting cells farther underground.

"Hand to hand," one of the guys says, taking off his weapons belt.

"No weapons?" I ask and walk out to the middle of the room.

"Wouldn't want to hurt you, little girl," he sneers, as if he's superior. I stop in my tracks and turn slowly.

"My name is _not_ little girl," I hiss, stepping closer to him and invading his personal space. "So I suggest you learn my name, or shut your mouth."

I push him away from me and correct my stance, ready to go. I won't let some asshole from the Clave walk all over me. I don't care who he is, I won't tolerate it. I could take him down _easily._ So, I do.

Every punch that I throw, I throw my entire body into. He's surprised when I land my first punch directly to his nose, which I felt make a horrifying snap before blood came pooling out. Hasn't anybody heard by now? I was trained by _the best_. I _personally_ _defeated_ the best.

I have speed over his lumbering frame, and it's not hard to dodge right under his blows and put myself behind him. I lunge for his legs, knocking them right out from under him **,** and he falls flat on his back. The bigger they are the harder they fall, right? The stupid oaf doesn't know what hits him when I climb up on top of him, my knees digging into the pressure points in the crevice of his arms and rendering them useless. One swift, solid punch to the jaw snaps his head to the side, and he's out.

The other Shadowhunter is on top of me in seconds, pulling me off of the unconscious guy. I don't resist, though. Instead I watch in amusement as he pushes me to the side and checks the other one over.

"He's taking a nap, leave him alone," I joke, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I'm given a withering glare that makes me roll my eyes. He gives the other Shadowhunter an iratze and he soon wakes up.

"You know," I muse, watching them closely. "Next time you want to pick a fight on the Clave's behalf, you should do some research on who your opponent is."

"You say that now, but you'll crumble under the Mortal Sword, _little girl_. I can assure you of that," the bloodied man says with a smug face. It makes me want to punch him again.

"Screw off, you moron. This _little girl_ just whooped your ass. I bet your superiors will be so proud," I goad him, clapping my hands together slowly. He gets redder and redder, and it's not because of the blood on his face.

"Take her sample and throw her back down in the dungeons," he snarls and spits a mouthful of blood out onto the speaking stars before turning and leaving. How rude.

 _"Your hand, Clarissa Morgenstern,"_ I look over to the Silent Brother that has been left with me and frown, holding out my hand. He procures a knife from within his robes and I watch as he slides it across the soft skin of my forearm, without wincing.

"So you guys are taking blood now? That's very modern," I sigh as he holds a vial under the small stream of blood that flows from the shallow cut. The Brother doesn't respond, but I take the time to amuse myself anyways. "That guy was a dick. He had it coming."

 _"The Clave works in mysterious ways,"_ he says as he draws an iratze on my forearm.

 _Yeah,_ _Bullshit ways._

* * *

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound echoes through my head, so quiet and yet so deafening. It's all I hear for days, sometimes. I think it is days, at least. It's hard to keep track of time when there's no natural light to help keep up with my body's circadian rhythm. The only indicators are the two small meals brought to me each day, but even then they feel sporadic at best as if someone finally remembered me being in here. These disgusting "meals" consist of stale bread and questionable looking meat. The first few times I ate it, it made me want to vomit. After a _very_ brief adjustment period, I got over the texture and taste, and finally accepted that I needed it to keep my strength up. It's not much, but it's enough to give me energy.

Time just drags on and on and _on. Tick, tock._ The clock is running, and the world is spinning, leaving me behind.

I mean, I know that my brother and Jace are doing everything that they can to help, but there's not much to be done in the first place. I'm stuck in limbo, and I know in the pit of my stomach that I'm not going anywhere unless the Clave decides that I _can_ go somewhere. I'd rather be put under the weight of the Mortal Sword than stay in this dim pit with it's moldy blankets and no sense of time.

I just want out of this hell hole. I want to go and be anywhere but here **.** I want to breath fresh air. I want to see the sun again. I want to let my brother know where I am, and that I'm alright.

But when do we ever get what we _want_?

* * *

I don't know how long it's been since a Silent Brother has been down to bring me food, but my stomach says that it has been a while. I'll take the flavorless stale bread and slimy lunch meat over my stomach eating itself, any day. I know it doesn't _actually_ work like that, but it makes me believe that I can feel my stomach turning in on itself, gnawing away. My mind seems to entertain the strangest of thoughts these days.

Like the thought of Jace and my brother breaking down these iron bars like avenging angels, armed with clean clothes and warm food. It's almost comical, but I could see it in my mind's eye. If I didn't feel like I was going insane, maybe I could hold on to that hope that they'll pull through for **,** Jonathan, at least; he's always been there for me, when he _was_ around.

Jace would be like an added bonus to the pack, but I wouldn't blame him for dipping out either. I've caused nothing but trouble since we met. We're the same in that way. Both bringing trouble with our reckless behavior. Maybe that's what I like most about him.

Not like it matters much down here, though, where there's nobody to share these thoughts and struggles with. I even started speaking out loud, just to hear something. But there's something so haunting about the way that your voice comes back at you that keeps me from doing it again, it sounds so hollow and desolate. So instead,I'd rather brave the near silence, full of the deafening _drip, drip, dripping._

What's even scarier is the _lack_ of noise that the Silent Brother's make when they approach me. I didn't even hear the one that I find standing _right there_ , in front of the closed iron door when I open my eyes, but there he is. He's not as startling as the other brothers. Instead, this Brother has _hair_ peeking out from under his hood, and his eyes and lips aren't sewn shut; he looks,dare I say,nearly like a human being still. Neither of us move, and even without his eyes, I can feel him casting around for me, for my mind. Looking for me.

"Hello," I whisper, not wanting to be loud. The Brother pushes the door to the cell open, as if it had not been locked at all. In one hand he carries a tray, and my mind temporarily strays to the thought of a Silent Brother maid. It's quickly wiped away.

 _"Clarissa Morgenstern. You have friends that have been looking for you,"_ he says into my mind, invading it uncomfortably. And as much as I'd like to, not even I can block it out.

"What? Who did you speak to?" I ask, sitting up on the hard, lumpy cot. My interest is piqued. He glides forwards, his robes never moving until he reaches an arm towards me.

In his hand, there's a blanket folded up neatly, one that's not moldy and tattered. Its green material is very familiar, and I tentatively reach out and take the blanket with both hands. Its soft material is like satin between my fingers, and I know it's the exact one that sat on the edge of my bed back home.

 _"Theresa Gray,"_ he says. I grin, because _of course_ Aunt Tessa would send someone for me. She knows someone in every stretch of the world. But I haven't heard from her since before my parents "died" the first time. Jonathan must have tracked her down. Both my head and heart are put at ease knowing that they're trying. Even if they can't quite get through.

"What happens now?" I ask as the Brother sets the tray down at my feet.

 _"Now we wait for the Clave."_ He turns and makes to leave, making my heart pound harder at the thought of being left here alone, _again._

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Don't I at _least_ get a trial?" I ask, trying to prolong the interaction.

 _"You'll find that one of your friends has left you a gift,"_ are the last words spoken into my head before he melts back into the darkness beyond my cell.

I sigh and look at the blanket, folded neatly in my lap, and run my hands over it. Unfolding the blanket gently, I find a book sitting in it. It's hardbound cover is weathered to the point that I can't make out what it says. I turn to the title page and find _A Tale of Two Cities._ I smile, knowing exactly who sent it for me. Jace certainly would entertain the idea of storming the bastille for me, and I was crazy to even _think_ that he that he would bail out on me. That crazy boy would do anything for me. Both of them would.

* * *

It feels like days before anybody is back again, and this time around, it's not a Silent Brother.

I have poured myself into the book left for me, bundled up in the soft blanket that makes me feel the slightest bit more secure than I actually am down here. I've gotten used to the spontaneity of the Brotherhood, and how silent they are when they come and go. I haven't, however, heard anything like I do now.

It sounds like thousands of echoing footsteps, rebounding all throughout the cavernous dungeons. It rattles in my ears and sets the hair on my arms on edge, prickling in anticipation. Something is different.

I set my book down and sit up in my lumpy cot, the blanket sliding off of me. My ears prick for voices, but there's silence aside from the deafening footsteps. It's eerie. Closer and closer it comes, gaining in volume. The first face that I can see coming down the dark hallway is a woman's, illuminated by the witchlight in her hand. The cell is opened by a Silent Brother, and in comes the woman and three guards.

"Clarissa Morgenstern," the woman says, her voice as strong and poised as her rigid posture. I stand up. "You've been summoned by the Clave. Tomorrow morning, you will be tried for treason under the Mortal Sword."

"Finally," I laugh humorlessly, challenging the woman in front of me. "Let's get this over with."

What I really want to say is, _fucking_ _bring it_ _on._

* * *

 **Woooo, update! This chapter was awesome to write, I feel so much better writing in Clary's point of view again. Hope you all enjoyed it too (:**


	6. Chapter 6: Absolute Zero

**Hey hey! Enjoooyy guys :D I really like this one! Also the biggest thank you to JMDeaton who is fighting a bad infection but still makes the time to help me out, bless your soul girl! I hope it clears up soon 3**

 **Don't forget to review and fave (:**

* * *

 _One thing that I can't stand_  
 _Is when the minutes fight the second hand_  
 _I'll waste a lifetime's worth_  
 _Just to play to one more day_

 _No fucking quota, no premiums_  
 _The world is stuck in delirium_  
 _Man is a four-letter word, it's really absurd_  
 _The hate isn't fake, it's just inferred_

 _Oh ho, I'm not afraid_  
 _I'm giving into grievances again_  
 _I'm down to absolute zero_  
 _Another zealot with the weight of the fucking world_

Absolute Zero, Stone Sour

* * *

 **Clary**

The night is rushing by in the blink of an eye, differing completely from the past few weeks spent in the Silent City. I have been placed in a room in the Gard, one with a bed and a shower. Despite the luxury of a somewhat real bed, that I've been without for weeks, I can't seem to sleep a wink. I switch between staring at the ceiling, to flipping through the book that Jace sent for me, to going over what Robert could possibly ask me in the morning.

I have no doubt that he has a personal vendetta against me, although I have no clue what it could possibly be. I've never done anything to hurt him or his family; Maryse took Jonathan and I in after the battle at Brocelind Plain, and treated us _normally._ Not as heroes, not as pariahs. As equals. But from the moment that Robert discovered my last name, he started acting differently. Short, as if I had personally offended him, and he was hardly even around. I still don't get it.

Whatever grudge he's holding against me, I'm sure he's going to use it to grill me under the Mortal Sword. I've only ever heard stories about those tried under it, ripping the bleeding truth from their minds. I'd be a fool to not be afraid of it; the Angel himself created these instruments for the use of Shadowhunters. It's infused with heavenly fire and it can bring even the strongest down to their knees.

I'm scared. I don't want to be brought to my knees - whether metaphorically or literally - in front of the _entire_ Clave. I have nothing to hide. I'll gladly tell them what they want to know, but Robert, he'll want to break me down. Humiliate me like he tried to do in front of his family when he took me.

* * *

" _Clarissa Morgenstern. It is time."_

I stand and obediently follow the Silent Brother out of the room. He leads me through the stone hallways, light filtering in from high windows. It burns my eyes because of how accustomed to the dim glow of torches and witch-light I've become. It's a nice change, though, and I can tell that it's nearly mid-morning by the angle that the light comes in.

I'm given no time for preparation before I'm let into a large, open room. People are gathered on the rows upon rows of benches that are aligned on each side of the room, to watch. Jonathan sits right at the front, his platinum blonde hair throwing off the morning sun like opal; however I can't meet his eyes, not with this temporary sense of shame flooding my body. Alec and Maryse are with him, although I see no signs of Jace. He's still not considered an adult by Clave standards. I would imagine that he's somewhere close by, waiting. Robert and the Consul - Jia Penhallow, I believe - are seated at the apex of the room. I can feel his beady eyes glaring into me as the Silent Brother leads me across the room to stand before them.

I take a deep breath and meet his harsh gaze.

"Clarissa Morgenstern," he booms. I'm really starting to get sick and tired of hearing my full name repeated so often. "You have been arrested for the use of a demonic rune against a fellow Shadowhunter. Treason is punishable by death. While the Law is hard, it is the Law, and the Mortal Sword will decide your innocence."

"I haven't committed treason, _Inquisitor_ ," I speak loudly so that all can hear. "Valentine Morgenstern was a _monster._ He would have brought his army-"

"Enough! You'll have your turn to speak, _child_." I clench my jaw but remain silent, my blood beginning to boil. I glance over to my brother, and I can tell he's feeling the same way that I am because he looks ready to unleash hell. His mossy green eyes hold anger and worse, _fear_. He's afraid that I'll be found guilty. I'm not, but there's no explanation for everything that I can do. I'm just different from the other Shadowhunters and I always have been, but to me I'm completely normal. I mean, I'm just like all the others in all the ways that count, just with a little extra oomph.

"Step forward," Robert commands as he takes the Mortal Sword from a Silent Brother. I take a few confident strides forward, but my hands tremble at my sides. I raise them, palm up.

As if time is slowed down to a snails crawl, I watch as the burning cold of the metal of the sharp blade comes to a rest on the skin of my left palm, clawing it's way painfully into my soul, splitting my skull and heart. He rests the roughly wrought handle of the Sword on my rightpalm, and my knees begin to shake under the weight. It feels like lead, and even I struggle to hold the weight up, causing my eyes to squeeze shut at the exertion. I bite down _hard_ on my lip. I won't make a noise, I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

"State your full name for the record of the Clave."

"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern," I whisper, my voice as steady as I can make it under the tension the Sword has put on my entire body.

"Who were your birth parents?" He asks, even the most remedial questions pulling a succinct answer from my cracked lips before I can even formulate it myself.

"Valentine and Jocelyn Morgenstern."

"How did your parents die?" He asks calmly, like he's gearing himself up for some great feat.

"My mother was killed by the Greater Demon Agramon," I answer, the salty tears prickling at the backs of my eyes, not in sadness, but in the pain that each word brings me, wrenching the answer from my tongue. "I killed my father."

"How did you kill your father?" He asks. His voice is laced with malicious amusement.

"Demonic rune," I grit out, trying to speak with _my own_ input. "He was rogue."

I'm panting at the exertion that the three small words bring me, but I know that Robert won't give me room to elaborate on the _why's_. That's where he thinks he'll make his case; using only the untainted truth, with no other context as to _why_ it all happened.

"And how did you come across this rune?" Robert asks, his voice pitched up, asking the question that I truly don't know the answer to.

"I don't know." I slowly open my eyes and watch through a haze as he stops in his leisurely pacing.

"You don't know how you came across the rune? Surely you came across it in a book," he suggests coyly as he stalks closer to me.

"No. They-they just came to me," I pant, not wanting to answer. I know it sounds bad enough as it is, but the more that I try to hold it back or shape my answers vaguely, the harder it's yanked out of me.

"And how long have demonic runes been coming to you? How long have you been aligned with the _filth_ that killed your mother?" He asks, his voice breaking in excitement and pitch **,** but there also seems to be a hint of sorrow when he mentions my momto me. I glare at him with as much venom as I can through the pain, and he just grins at me.

"Only once. N-never aligned," I spit out at him, disgust clear on my face. My voice grows with each word, building up, and suddenly it is as if I am no longer holding the Mortal Sword. "I'm _loyal_ to the Angel Raziel."

"If that is true, then _how_ could you use a demonic rune on your father? If you _say_ that you are loyal to the Angel, then _how_ could these runes just 'come to you'," he air-quotes, mocking me and my answer.

"I don't know," I say, my voice losing its strength. The prickling in my arms and legs have stopped altogether; I feel nothing but the Sword, swallowing me whole and forcing the truth out to these judgmental people. It's a terrifying notion, to have no control over your mind and body.

"Surely you have to know how you came across such a powerful rune?" he goads me. "Perhaps you've been tainted by the demon that killed your mother. You were there, weren't you? Perhaps _you_ played a part in her death."

I shake my head vehemently, closing my eyes once more. _I'm not tainted. I'm not rogue._

I think of Jonathan and Jace. Even though the latter is not here, I know that he's cheering me on from the sidelines. I even have the Lightwood's behind me - bar Robert - and it brings me a sense of peace. All of the training and bonding, every single second I've spent with them, they've treated me as their own because they trust me. _They believe in me. They know the truth._

I have to let the truth be set free, because that's the only way that I'll survive this.

"I think you've been tainted, Clarissa. That you've made a deal with the devils for this so-called power that you have. Have you ever conspired against the Clave with a greater demon before?"

"No," I say calmly, letting the small word define my innocence. It's not the answer that Robert was looking for. He was expecting me to say _yes_ , and I watch in satisfaction as his face drops. "Never have, and I _never will_ ," I whisper, trying to keep myself in check under the flood of emotions that soar through me. I nearly drop to my knees at the realization.

It's not the answer he was looking for, but it's the only answer. It's the _truth_. The room fills with whispers from those who have gathered to watch a Shadowhunter fall under the Inquisitor and the Sword. Nobody is falling under his vindictive questioning today. He can try as hard as he wants, but I won't give in to him and his accusations. I _won't_ accept the fate that he's trying to lay out for me. _I won't fall._

"I think that's enough for today," Jia speaks up, standing from her spot next to the dumbfounded idiot that I just proved _wrong_. "We can continue tomorrow."

I let out a breath of relief as Robert stalks up to me with anger in his eyes, not daring to counter the Consul herself. My arms go limp as the Sword is lifted, the heavy metal weight gone and replaced with an emptiness that sends chills down my spine; it's as if the Sword has taken something from me in it's absences. Maybe my peace of mind. I was completely open, vulnerable to attack and it leaves me feeling violated even after it has been lifted. But I'm still standing, and I'm going to _win._ I'll fight him until my very last breath if it comes to it.

"Clarissa," The Consul says in a clear voice. "We will continue this trial in the morning. Because of your cooperation, we will release you to the custody of Maryse Lightwood. But under _no circumstances_ are you to leave Alicante, Miss Morgenstern. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say clearly, despite the exhaustion running through my veins. It thickens with each minute that I stand in front of the Clave, their curious gazes boring into me like I'm supposed to perform some trick. As if I'm some circus animal. I stand up taller, letting my pride show in my posture and face. _I_ have the upper hand here.

"The Clave will re-gather tomorrow at nine in the morning," Jia says with a finality that allows me to finally move my legs. They're filled with lead as I trudge across the room to Jonathan. I can't see Maryse or Alec anywhere nearby, now.

I incline my head for him to follow me out of the heavy room. The warm air soothes my chilled skin and I make my way around the side of the building, trying to find a shred of privacy with my brother in this crazy moment.

"You did amazing up there," he tells me, his voice laced with worry. I laugh dryly as I let myself sink down onto the small stone bench against the side of the Gard, my entire body finally relaxing. From head to toe, I ache like I've been sleeping on concrete.

"As if I wouldn't?" I ask sarcastically and arch my back, trying to stretch out my tight muscles. I let my neck fall backwards and rest my head, closing my eyes. Not even the warm comforting Alicante air can clear my head of the pounding that still lingers.

"Of course you would," he agrees and I can sense his knowing grin. We sit comfortably for a few moments, collecting ourselves. I need a lot of collecting right now; I feel so _fragile._ "What did they do to you?"

"They had me do some tests, like a physical of sorts, and then there's also the fact that I was in the Silent City for weeks," I shudder. I don't really want to relive any of that. "Thanks for the blanket, by the way."

"We didn't know you were in the City until Tessa found out," he tells me, his voice regretful. I look over as I sit back up, and then punch him gently in the arm.

"You couldn't have done anything to get me out anyways, so stop it," I roll my eyes. "Have you gotten anything _else_ done?" I ask quietly.

"As if _we_ wouldn't?" He asks with as much sass as I did just a moment ago, his lips splitting into a smirk. It comforts me that he's able to joke around with me right now. It brings me a semblance of normalcy that I so desperately need right now.

"It better be good. I've been dying sitting around doing _nothing_ for weeks," I sigh. Jonathan reaches his hand towards me and rests it on my back, running it up and down gently. It brings me back down, grounding me.

"I've got your back, Little Sister. Although you hardly need it."

He may not realize it, but without him I would be crumbling through all of these tests and trials. But with him, and our friends, I'm able to manage all of it. The accusations, the pain, the detachment. It's all made bearable because of them. It doesn't matter what Robert or the Clave tries to do to tear me down. They can hack away at me all they want, because I know that with my friends by my side, I'll rise above and prove them _all_ _wrong_.

Maybe it's because my pride is taking a hit, or because they look down on me because I'm different, but either way, I'll do whatever it takes to clear my family's name; even if it _is_ only for mine and Jonathan's sake. We shouldn't be forced into feeling shame for our name because of mistakes that our father made when we were younger. _We were, and are,_ completely innocent to all of his wrong doings and crimes, and we have to do something to separate _us_ from _him._ After all...

 _We are_ the only living Morgenstern's.


	7. Chapter 7: All Mine

**Sorry if you were notified for a new chapter then came to see there wasn't one- we had a big problem with FF not saving my documents correctly, and since i copy and paste it from there to here, it was all messed up. thank you JMDeatonfor helping me sort it all out! I'd be so scatterbrained if you weren't here to help xD**

* * *

 _All my problems they will run away from you and I see_  
 _All the angels sit and stare at you_  
 _You are everything but not today_

 _I'm so down and out 'cause_  
 _something is wrong without you_  
 _When you're not around_  
 _Just shadows and rain fall_  
 _Wait till tomorrow_  
 _I'll wait_

 _Just wanna be with you_  
 _Only you_  
 _Always you_  
 _You're so beautiful to_  
 _me It's true_  
 _Amazed by you_  
 _I think I'm falling_

All Mine, One Ok Rock

* * *

 **Jace**

 _It'll be okay_ , they keep telling me. _She'll be fine_.

As if I don't know that. _She'll_ be perfectly fine, but I can't stand this. It's impossible to sit still and just... _wait._ Pacing a hole in the floor of an unfamiliar house that we've been put up in, while we're here in Alicante, is not how I want to spend the morning of Clary's trial. I should be _in there_ with the rest of them, but when the Clave is in session, nobody under the age of eighteen is allowed in there.

Isabelle makes me stay here at Amatis Graymark's - Luke Garroway's sister - with her, while the trial begins. We've been sitting here all morning, Isabelle flipping through Maryse and Jocelyn's journals. I've been restless, fidgeting around and pacing. I tried sitting down and helping her get through them, but it was fruitless. I couldn't focus on anything. Not when I shouldn't even be _here._ I should be _there,_ waiting for her to come out of the damn thing. Regardless of what the verdict is, I should be there for _her_.

The stress and annoyance has me at my wit's end, and every noise of each passersby makes me jump to conclusions, thinking that it's over already. Of course it's not over yet. It'll be a while, and then Jonathan, Maryse, and Alec will come back to tell us whatever the outcome is. I envy them, especially Alec. I would like to think that I would know if things didn't turn out well, through the bond that Alec and I share. It would stress him out, and I would feel it. Right? If only there were a way to see, or hear, what your parabatai was seeing or hearing.

"Jace, you need to chill out," Isabelle mutters from her spot perched on the sofa, the journals scattered all about her, along with various notes, written out on hot pink post-its. She looks completely relaxed. "Go make some tea, or take a nap. Go train or something."

"I hate tea, there's no way I could sleep, and if I try to train, I'm going to massacre the targets," I groan, throwing myself onto the couch childishly.

"Well then, go make _me_ some tea," she says, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"Fine," I sigh and take myself to the expansive kitchen. I shuffle through the cupboards, looking for a kettle and tea; I remember Amatis briefly mentioning that she had some in here, _somewhere._ Amidst my raid for Isabelle's tea, I hear the tell-tale creak and click of the front door, and my heart begins to race. Is it over? If it is, has Clary been freed and _cleared_ of the bullshit charges against her?

I let the cupboard fall shut loudly, and rush out of the kitchen, eager to hear the news. Any news would be appreciated right about now. Anything to get me through the rest of the day.

"Are they back-" I stop mid-sentence as I round the corner and stop. I want to punch a fucking wall.

"Sorry, just me," Luke says sheepishly as he sets a duffle bag down by the couch.

"It's fine," I sigh. I forgot about him. He's been trying to keep in contact with us all, so that he can help; which is another reason why we're staying here at his sister's house. "Have you heard anything from anybody?"

"I came straight here as soon as I got in," he says apologetically. "They're not back yet?"

"Obviously," I grumble in annoyance.

"Trying to get this done here," Isabelle snaps in a testy voice, her eyes not lifting from the journals.

I turn and head back to the kitchen, Luke following right behind me. I fill up the kettle and set it on the stove to heat up, while I continue my search for the hiding tea bags.

"Here," Luke says, stepping around me and opening up a cupboard that I have yet to raid. I snatch the box of tea off of the shelf and toss it forcefully onto the counter, taking the smallest bit of satisfaction when it spills open and teabags scatter over the surface. Maybe I _should_ go train for a bit, blow off some steam. "Woah, what'd the tea ever do to you?"

"No offense Luke, but I'm not really in the mood," I tell him and set a bag into a mug. "You want a cup?"

"Sure. What's on your mind, kid?" He asks, his voice light and almost paternal. I debate whether or not I should even answer him.

"A lot of things," I sigh, leaning back against the counter and drumming my fingers loudly against the edges. "Waiting is not my strongest point."

"Mine neither, Jace. But there's nothing to be done," he says kindly, pointing out something that I'm already cognizant of.

"I'm aware of that fact."

"You don't like not being able to do anything, huh?" He says quietly.

"That's the understatement of the year, my friend," I scoff and pour the scalding water over the bags, dunking them like I've seen Maryse do. "It's driving me _nuts_. I can't even go wait out by the Gard for them."

"It'll be over soon, they'll find the truth," he says, so sure of himself. "And when they do, Jonathan will be there for her. She needs that right now." He's right. Jonathan is her brother; she'll want to see him first and catch up. I hope she doesn't think that I've just up and abandoned her, though.

"They also know how to bend the truth to be what they want," I scoff, thinking about Robert. He's awfully good at that; if he can find some bogus charges, then he can throw a verdict.

"While that may be true, the Sword doesn't know how to bend it. It may be a flawed system, but it's a truthful one. Try to take a breather. Go for a run or something, blow off all that extra strain," he tells me, clapping his hand on my back reassuringly.

I nod absently, realizing that he's probably right. I can't keep driving myself, _and_ everyone else, up the wall because I don't have control of any of it. The Law is hard, but it is the Law. I just hope that the Clave adheres to it as well.

* * *

Every step that I push myself, farther and farther, is a step that I can breathe a little bit easier. Each punch, each kick, releases the built up stress; that has been pent up for the past couple of weeks of waiting, of being away from her. I take it all out on the punching bag, like it's going to bring her to me, the leather beginning to rip and the metal chains clanging together loudly.

It's therapeutic, tearing at the heavy bag like a whirlwind, bruising my fists and creating a burn that replaces the loneliness that I've been feeling. It's like something is _missing,_ even with Jonathan and Alec and Isabelle all going through this with me. Whatever Clary has done to me, it's something that they can't fix. _I_ _need her._

Who'd have thought? Me, Jace, _needing_ a girl. Needing someone other than my parabatai. It's nearly unfathomable. But she does something to me. She gets under my skin, into my mind, and she does things that make me question _everything._ Myself, her, my friends. She's opened up so many new pathways for us, and although I don't like not knowing where they all go, I trust her to lead the way.

And By the Angel, does she know how to lead. She's strong-willed, and she speaks with such passion about what she thinks is right; anybody who begs to differ can kick rocks. She's a natural born leader, it's just ingrained in her very being.

But she's also _different._ She's powerful, and she can be ruthless. She does things that a normal Shadowhunter _shouldn't_ be able to do. It scares others, but I think of it as an Angel-given gift -what else could it possibly be? She wouldn't have them otherwise, right? She wouldn't use these gifts to hurt anybody who doesn't deserve her wrath, but that's what the Clave is missing. They didn't see the pain, and the anguish, that Valentine caused. They didn't see the army that Valentine commanded, the army that would have invaded Alicante. The army that Clary stopped.

She did exactly what she had to, what any of us would have had to do if put in the same situation, and it terrifies them that someone could turn on their own kind like that. They're afraid of her, no matter what anybody else says. No matter who testifies in her defense, they will always be afraid of what they can't control, and they sure as hell can't control Clary. Nobody but Clary, herself, can do that.

* * *

 **Clary**

I feel a bit irritated as I walk through Alicante with Jonathan. I'm free for a night, but I feel the pressure from everyone's gaze on me. It doesn't matter where I turn, someone's always there; gossiping with whoever will listen, glaring at me. Judging me, for a crime I didn't even commit. It should say a lot that the _Consul_ herself, let me go for the night, but _apparently_ nobody else has read into that much. I wish they would, so that I could walk back to Amatis' in peace.

"He's really anxious to see you, you know," Jonathan says suddenly. I glance down at him with pinched eyebrows.

"Jace?" I ask quietly, hopefully.

"Yeah. He was driving me nuts the other day," he laughs and rolls his eyes. "He wanted to go, but he couldn't for the obvious reason. And Isabelle made him stay back with her, so that we could have a few minutes."

"That's sweet of her," I grin and squeeze his shoulder lovingly. I really needed that moment with him earlier. It wasn't some grand reunion; it was just _us._ It made me feel safe, a sentient I've been lacking for the past weeks.

"Yeah, well, it's sweet of her, but sure to drive him even further up the wall," he scoffs playfully. "He's a wreck, Clary."

"What do you mean?" I ask cautiously.

"He's a mess. I'm your brother, but I'd say he was slightly crazier about this whole situation - _I'm_ the calm one. He's just not right without you around," he says, watching me for a reaction. Try as I may, I can't keep myself calm enough to avoid blushing. If I'm being honest, I'm nervous too. I've gotten so use to having Jace around and I've been deprived of his sass for too long. "Oh my God, you miss him too, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I mumble bluntly. "I missed _all of you_ guys."

"But you missed Jace in a _different_ way than you missed me or Isabelle," he smirks wickedly.

"You know what I didn't miss?" I ask in agitation. "You hounding me about trivial things."

"You _say_ that it's trivial, but I know you don't believe it," he continues, but stops when I send him a threatening glare. I'm starting to get _really_ annoyed. I don't _know_ what I feel, or if I missed Jace in a different way, like Jon says. I'd like to figure that out on my own time, without my brother's teasing. It's harmless, but it's still stressful. "Alright, alright, I'll stop."

"Thanks," I mutter and follow him around the bend.

"That's it up there," he says, veering the topic towards the big house at the end of the block. It sort of stands away from the rest of the houses, just a bit farther out. Vines crawl up the sides of the creamy golden walls, and I can hear running water once we get a little bit closer. "We all have our own rooms, it's pretty nice."

I hum in response and hold open the short half-gate that closes in the front garden, letting Jonathan go through first. He rolls up the path, glancing back at me with a smile that I try to reciprocate, but fail to. I'm so damn _nervous_.

"You can go first, surprise them. I'm sure they're all waiting to hear back from Maryse anyways, so they won't be expecting you to be _here_ ," he says, sounding a bit excited.

"Okay, then," I take a deep breath and then rap my knuckles firmly on the door, three times. I can hear someone shuffling around inside, and take a step back from the door.

"Hel-" Someone begins to say as the door opens, before they can see me. "Clary!"

Isabelle stands on the other side of the door in jeans and a tank top, her feet bare and a leather-bound journal in her hand. She drops the journal and pulls me into a quick hug before glancing behind me at Jonathan, both of them smiling.

"Hey, Iz," I smile, letting her pull me in.

"What's going on?! They found you innocent?!" She asks excitedly, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. "I'm so glad that you're okay!"

"I'm just here for tonight, like on bail," I tell her quietly, trying to look around inconspicuously. "We continue tomorrow morning, and I can't leave Alicante."

"Well, I mean, that's better than keeping you locked up in a cell," she shrugs and I agree with a nod. "And Jace isn't here right this second. He's been so antsy all day, and I couldn't handle it - I was about to slap him - so he's on a jog right now."

"Oh, alright," I nod, my stomach settling oddly with a little bit of disappointment.

"He'll be back soon." She bends down, picking the journal back up. "Do you want some tea, something to eat?" She asks and pulls me with her towards the kitchen.

"How about _I_ make the tea and some sandwiches, and you guys go sit down," Jonathan pipes in way too quickly. Isabelle turns her dark eyes on him, shooting him daggers.

"My cooking is not _that_ bad," she tells him condescendingly.

"Sorry sweets, but it really _is_ ," he laughs and leaves us alone in the living room. They're really comfortable with each other - and he called her sweets. She trails after him to the kitchen and I wonder if they've finally gotten together, but now isn't really the time to ask. I fall back into a big fluffy couch, the cool pillows cushioning everything that's been set out of line from sleeping on a thin pad on concrete for the past weeks. I could probably close my eyes and forget about everything, but I don't want to sleep the rest of the day away.

"Clary, what are you doing here?" A familiar deep timbre asks curiously. I open my eyes to see Luke standing there, all smiles. "I'm glad to see you."

"Hey, Luke," I say softly and stand to hug him. He still smells slightly of wet dog, but it's so good to see him again; after I sort of ditched him to stay at the Institute, and then the clash with my father, I haven't talked to him at all. I sit back down, making myself comfortable again. "I'm out on 'bail,'" I air quote with a small smile.

"Well, that's awfully kind of them to let you come stay with us for the night," he grins. "I have faith in that Sword. I may not be a Shadowhunter anymore, but I still believe that the truth will always find it's way out. You have nothing to be afraid of."

"Yeah, nothing but Robert Lightwood," I roll my eyes and lay my head back. "He has some sort of grudge against me, and I don't know _why_."

Luke is silent for a few moments too long. I sit up and watch him as he glares at the ground before heaving a big sigh and meeting my eyes. "I think-"

He's cut off by the front door slamming shut, both of us turning towards the arching entrance to the living room, waiting for whoever it is to come through it. I can hear someone talking, but not clearly.

"Who's at the door?" I ask Luke, knowing that his werewolf hearing is better than mine.

"I'm going to go make sure Jonathan and Isabelle don't burn down my sister's house," he says quickly, leaving me with a knowing smile. I watch him as he makes his way to the other arch, into the kitchen. When I turn back, I nearly have a heart attack.

"Clary," Jace says, just a whisper of a breath. He's standing there in a sweat dampened t-shirt, as if he's been training. I stand up from the couch and awkwardly step forward a little, around the coffee table, but he's still all the way across the room, his face so open and almost _pained._

"Hi," I murmur softly and take another step forward, wishing that he would say something, _do_ something.

"Is it over?" He asks, sucking in a deep breath, waiting for my answer. "Or am I seeing things?"

"Not yet," I look down at the ground, feeling so awkward and helpless under his heavy gaze. "And no, it's really me."

I glance up when he begins to move, and he crosses the space between us in long, purposeful strides before he's pulling me to him. His arms are covered in sweat, but they hold me so tightly, and I can feel myself breaking underneath him. I cling onto him with my face buried in his chest, and the salt from my eyes wet his shirt more. The silent tears don't stop flowing as he gently sways me back and forth on the spot, his hands running up and down my back, soothing it all out.

"It's okay," he whispers, kissing my exposed skin ever so gently, his lips coming up to my temple and the top of my head. He holds me together, as the tides of raw emotion seep through me in a way I've never felt before. I don't know if it's from finally seeing him again, or because I've been _terrified_ of what can happen if this trial goes wrong. I don't want to lose him _._ I _can't_ lose him; being isolated for weeks on end has made me realize that much.

I've always been so independent, but being without Jace is not something I want to experience ever again. I _need_ him to function. I need his witty remarks and his sweet gestures. I need his arms around me, and I need him to tell me it's okay, because with the way that things are going, I'm starting to crack.

"Thank you," I whisper into his neck with a kiss. His head bows and his arms tighten for just a second before I pull myself back just enough to see his beautiful face again. He looks so tired but happy, the dark crescents under his eyes brightened just a little bit by his smile. I place my hands on his cheeks, running them over his jaws and his sharp cheekbones, making my decision almost instantly. "Thank you," I repeat, and pull his lips down onto mine. My lips are dry but his mouth is warm and giving against mine, letting me control the kiss.

He pulls me closer again, eliminating the gap between us, with a small whine from one of us - I don't know which, because I can't breathe, I can't think clearly. All that there is in this moment is Jace and I, and it's all that I want. With a soft smack of our lips, I pull away from him to breathe, relishing in the warmth he brings to my stomach as he pulls me back in for softer, shorter kisses.

"Miss me?" He asks, panting just a little bit. I smile and whack his arm gently before resting my forehead on his chest to hide my huge smile.

"Just a little bit," I laugh.

"Well, I missed you a lot," he sighs and pulls my chin back up. "I haven't seen your beautiful face in weeks, don't hide from me." His thumb brushes against my cheekbone tenderly and he just stands there, memorizing my face, and the blush that spreads across it at his scrutiny.

"Can I change my answer then?" I laugh, covering his hands with my own and lacing our fingers together.

"Of course," he rolls his eyes and squeezes my hands. My face heats up more in anticipation of what I'm about to say, because it's not something I've been able to put much thought into; it's not something that _needs_ a lot of thought, it's just something that I feel.

"I _really_ missed you, Jace," I murmur, smiling. I look down at our shoes, the tips of them just barely touching. "I love y-"

"Can we come in yet?" Someone shouts, completely cutting me off and making my stomach drop. I glance over at the doorway and then up at Jace, who is looking at me with a shocked expression on his face, his lips parted just a little bit. He doesn't move, or say anything, leaving me hanging there, suspended in a moment, that I never thought I would regret. _Oh my God_ , _he doesn't._

"I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely, trying to not look so dejected. I'm about to turn to the doorway and call for them to come on through and put an end to my suffering, but before I can, Jace pulls me back by the arm a little roughly, and kisses me again, his lips frantic and then soft on my own, their warmth calming my wary heart. He pulls back and his golden eyes are on fire.

"Don't be," he murmurs strongly, smiling delicately down at me.

"You have ten seconds to be decent, and I swear to the Angel, I'll kick both of you guys' asses if you aren't," my brother calls, making the both of us laugh.

"We're good," I call back to him and step a little bit further away from Jace, so that we're not right up on top of each other when they enter the room. He reaches out and takes my hand, not caring who sees. He's pulling me to sit on the small loveseat when Jonathan comes in, one hand over his eyes.

"Really, Jon?" Jace asks, raising an eyebrow at my brother. He finally drops his hand and sees us sitting on the couch together, holding hands.

"Well, I don't know, you haven't seen each other in _weeks_ , you know," Jonathan says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. I roll my eyes and slyly flip him off when Jace isn't looking. He sticks his tongue out at me playfully, but quickly straightens up when Isabelle comes in the room.

"Be nice, Jonny," she tells him with a smile as she sets down a tray of sandwiches on the table, then she sits at the end of the couch that he is closest to and hands him a sandwich.

"Sorry there's not much to eat as of right now, but Amatis and Maryse have gone shopping. They want to make you a nice dinner tonight," Luke says, coming in with glasses of lemonade. My heart warms at their generosity.

"That's sweet of them, but they really don't have to do that," I smile gratefully. "Sandwiches are fine."

"Don't even try arguing with my sister, she can give even Jace here a run for his money," Luke laughs and hooks his thumb over to Jace, who is already halfway through his first sandwich.

"That must be hard. Jace is one of the stubbornest people I know," I grin, glancing up at his profile, his curly, gold hair framing his face. He smiles straight ahead and squeezes my hand.

"I think your brother can contest with that title," Isabelle laughs softly, giving Jonathan a cheesy grin.

"That is very true," I smile at them.

"I personally think that Jon is worse," Jace cuts in, nodding enthusiastically. "I've been good lately."

"You've been mopey lately," Isabelle points out with a perfectly manicured finger.

"And you've been annoying," he deadpans, making her laugh.

"I don't find you annoying," my brother says kindly. I wonder if Jace and I act that cliché without knowing it.

"That's because you like her!" Jace snorts out in laughter, making Jon go red in the face and Isabelle smile up at him brilliantly. It's really, _really_ nice to be able to do this again.

I'm happy to all be back together, and joking around with them. I've missed everybody so much, but Jonathan was completely right. I missed Jace in a totally different - not platonic - way, and anybody can see it clear on my face when I look at him. This boy has changed me completely from the emotionless girl I was when we met, to the one I am now. The girl that is... well... in love.

* * *

 **Jace**

 _She's here._ Right in front of me, in the flesh. She's not locked up in some undisclosed location, alone. She's not stripped of her marks, she's just… standing there, staring at me. I try to form the right words, knowing what I want to say, but none of it coming out.

"Clary," I sigh instead, just the sound of her name a soothing balm to my entire being. She looks confused, conflicted, and I wonder why neither of us have moved at all.

"Hi," she murmurs, her voice so soft and delicate, different from the headstrong warrior I've come to know. She sounds exhausted, and she looks it too. Her once bright eyes have deep circles underneath and she looks slighter than before, like she's lost some weight.

All that I can think of is... how exactly am I going to kill whoever did this to her, whoever treated her this badly that it physically shows in the way she steps forward so carefully. Like she's scared.

"Is it over?" I ask, holding my breath. This cannot be real; it all happened so quickly. "Or am I seeing things?"

"Not yet," she answers, looking down at the ground with furrowed eyebrows, as if she can't meet my gaze. "And no, it's really me."

That's when I find myself moving across the living room in just a few short strides, eliminating the distance between us. I don't want to be so far apart from her, especially when she's _finally_ here and I don't know when she'll be ripped away from me again. She's been alone and I know she's strong, but the tolls are evident in her face and I want to be able to comfort her, make her feel _safe_ again. So, I pull her to me, neither of us minding my sweaty shirt, or the way that we cling to each other, despite us being 'just friends.'

Her small body curls into mine and her arms squeeze my waist tightly, her shoulders beginning to shake and small cries fall from her perfect lips, now drawn into a grimace as she holds on. My heart breaks at the state that she's in, so completely worn down and tired. I hold her tightly and sway her back and forth, trying to soothe her hushed tears. My hands running up and down her back pulling it all out, letting her rid herself of the pent up emotion that she's no doubt been holding in since she was arrested.

My stomach drops each time she presses her face into my chest, and when her hands ball up in my shirt. I want nothing more than to protect her, to hold her and keep her safe. "It's okay," I whisper into her hair, kissing the fiery red that I've missed so much. She sniffles and takes a few deep breaths before leaning up into my neck and kissing me there, her lips dry, yet still so soft.

"Thank you," she whispers, and I tighten my arms around her, resting my head on top of hers for a few moments. I don't want to loosen my grip on her, but she gently pulls back and looks up at me, her beautiful tear-stained face so open and willing to let me in. She places her hands on my face, running her fingers over my jaw before she repeats her thanks. "Thank you," she says, but her voice is different. It's stronger, and more sure of herself, and I understand _why_ when she pulls my face down to hers. I willingly let her kiss me, her mouth and hands guiding me in a way that makes me want to fall to my knees for her. She's so gentle and tentative, like she's getting to know me all over again.

I pull her closer to me, our bodies flush together and it excites me when she lets out a small whine when I do. It's all about us, just us, and nobody else. I could stay like this forever and never let her go, but it's getting hard to breathe with our lips sealed together. She pulls away, our lips releasing with a little smack, but I don't want to end this just yet; I pull her in, feathering kisses to her lips just a few more times.

"Miss me?" I breathe out through heavy breaths, trying to catch up. She's grinning like the Cheshire cat, but she rests her forehead back on my chest when she replies.

"Just a little bit," she giggles.

"Well, I missed you a lot," I inform her and rest my fingers under her chin, guiding her until she looks up at me with luminous green eyes, full of happiness. "I haven't seen your beautiful face in weeks, don't hide from me." I watch her closely and rub my thumbs over her cheekbones, rememorizing every perfect curve of her face as she smiles and blushes.

"Can I change my answer then?," she laughs playfully. Her small hands come up to cover mine on her face, lacing them together and bringing them down in between us.

"Of course," I roll my eyes and watch her as she fidgets, her cheeks pink still. She takes a deep breath and I squeeze her hands encouragingly.

"I _really_ missed you, Jace," she smiles down at our shoes. "I love y-"

"Can we come in yet?" Someone calls, cutting her off. She looks over at the door in annoyance, but I'm left standing there, unsure of what to say back to her. I don't think that I can speak anyways, not through the roiling in my stomach that threatens to make me sick with nerves. Was she going to…?

When I don't move or say anything, she takes a step back from me, her face absolutely crest-fallen although she tries so hard to hide it. "I'm sorry," she whispers thickly, the words pulling at my heartstrings. It's not that I haven't had the chance to think about it, cause I have, but she tries to pull away and I don't have the time to make this _right_ , not right now with everyone wanting to reconnect with Clary.

So instead I pull her back to me almost harshly, and kiss her; my lips frenzied against her own, that move back against mine with shock. It's quick and I pull back for a second before kissing her again, softer this time. I want her to know that I want her. That I _need_ her.

"Don't be," I tell her boldly, but with a smile on my face.

* * *

The entire evening, I spend at Clary's side. Whether it's on the couch, or at the dinner table, she keeps at least one of her hands clasped tightly in mine at all times, ignoring the looks from her brother and Isabelle. They've both been rooting for us for the longest time, and we're finally making progress.

It physically hurts though, knowing that she has to go back into the room of waiting Council members and continue on with this trial, with the pain that the Sword brings. What's worse is not knowing if she'll come out of the trial tomorrow with her Marks, or whether she'll be stripped and exiled from our world. We would be denied contact with her, and I know that I couldn't do this again.

But I'm a Shadowhunter through and through, and the thought of leaving that behind scares me equally as much as Clary getting exiled. But for now, the verdict is unknown, and I'm just worrying myself by thinking of the possibilities, no matter how likely they may be.

All of us stay up together - Isabelle, Jonathan, Alec, Clary, and myself - catching Clary up on what we've found so far in the journals. Well, what Izzy's found. It's not much to go off of, most of it incessant teenage ramblings. I'm sad to say that we haven't found anything particularly _relevant_ while she's been gone, but thankfully we have her Aunt Tessa to help. She had to return to the Spiral Labyrinth for the time being, but she's digging for us, for the prophecy that Starkweather mentioned. It's like a big waiting game for us.

Eventually everyone started to wander off, Alec to his own room and Jonathan and Isabelle to theirs -apparently they're sharing now, "Just so I can help him around," Isabelle claimed. I raised my eyebrows at Jonathan, glaring between him and Isabelle, but he just shrugged and nodded his head towards Clary; I suppose that we are both in the same boat, involved with the other's sister. It puts Alec on the absolute edge since that's his baby sister, but I understand it. They really do care for each other.

"You should get some sleep too," I tell Clary, when we're the only ones left on the couch, with her cuddled into my side. I drape my arm around her back and kiss her on the forehead, making her smile at me.

"I'm not really tired," she tells me matter-of-factly, but I can read the exhaustion on her face; like it's printed in the papers. Why is she lying to me?

"Tomorrow's going to be even longer, Clary," I sigh and close my eyes. I'd give anything in this world to take her place so that she doesn't have to go through it all, again. The stories alone that I've heard, of the weight of the Sword, make me shiver uncomfortably.

She whines and sits up a little bit straighter. "I guess so. But, _you_ need sleep too."

"You need it _more_ though," I insist, grabbing her face and running my thumbs under her dark eyes, where the purple half-rings lie, making her face look sunken in. She stands up and grabs my hand, leading me up the stairs and down the hallway. Passed Jonathan's room, passed Alec's, passed Izzy's abandoned room, and to hers on the end. Mine sits right across from hers.

"Why do you always have to be right?" She smiles and leans against her closed door. I step closer and rest my hands on her waist, dipping my head down to kiss her softly once more.

"Because I just am," I smile down at her and she shakes her head with a small grin. She leans up onto her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me again; an indulgent, sweet, goodnight kiss that she pulls away from to soon. "What time do you go back tomorrow?"

"Nine in the morning," she sighs, squeezing my hand.

"I'll be waiting out there for you, you know," I tell her as she turns away. I won't sit behind at home, waiting, this time. I'll be there, or as close as I can be.

"I know you will be," she murmurs so softly and places a quiet, little kiss on my cheek.

* * *

I awake sometime in the late hours of the night to the whisper of the door being pushed open. Sometimes I hate being a light sleeper, because the smallest noises wake me up, but other times I'm glad. For instance, I'm glad that I'm awake now, because there Clary stands in the doorway to my room, her arms wrapped around herself. The soft blue moonlight dances across her freckled face and reflects a shimmering trail down her cheeks. I sit up immediately and call out to her, the sheets falling down around my waist.

"Clary? What's the matter?" I ask quickly. She takes a tentative step towards the bed and I hold a hand out to her, urging her forward. She crosses the room in a few short strides and takes my hand. I can feel her shaking.

"I-I can't sleep," she mumbles, her face tilted down. I lead her to come sit next to me, our backs against the headboard of the bed.

"Why can't you sleep?" I ask her as I wrap an arm around her and pull her closer into my side. She nestles in and lets her hand sit on my stomach, her fingers absent-mindedly tracing the lines of my abdomen, making my stomach jump.

"I just… _can't._ I haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, and it's catching up to me. I'm just so freaking _frustrated_ ," she tells me, her voice growing quicker and louder. I run my hand up and down her arm, trying to calm her down from the state she's worked herself into. "And I'm _scared_ , Jace. Robert was unrelenting. And I have to go back in there, _again_. I have to hold the Sword, _again_ and let it pick through my brain," she chokes out, and I can tell she's crying again. She lays her head down on my chest and I feel the salted diamond dribble down my torso.

"I know," I speak quietly, sinking back down into the bed and pulling her down with me so that we're facing each other on our sides. I pull the blankets up over us and pull her closer to me, letting her cry silently against me as I whisper reassurances to her. "You're strong, Clary. _So_ _fucking strong_. Don't you ever forget that, alright? Show the entire Council and Clave who you _really_ are."

"I hate this all so much," she sniffles, after a few minutes of her gathering herself. Her voice is still hoarse and low, but there's a spite to it now. "I wish they would just _see_. Robert just keeps digging for answers that aren't there, and he doesn't even care how much it _hurts_ me. He's determined to find _his_ version of the truth, and seeing as how I can give no actual context or insight to my answers, I'm not entirely sure that I'll win."

"You're going to win. You're going to clear your name for you _and_ your brother. Robert is going to be sorry he even started this fight, because he's going to look like a damn fool. I have no doubt about it. Even if _he_ can't see it, I'm sure that the rest of the Council will be able to see the absolute truth, not the bits that he's forced out of you," I tell her with certainty, pulling her closer to me. "And whatever happens, we're all going to be there with you. _I'm going to be there with you_."

"You don't know how much that helped," she sighs, curling into me. We just lay there for a few minutes, and I can feel her breathing even out, she even yawns against me.

Clary tilts her head back, finally looking up at me, her jade eyes so luminous in the light of the moon, even when they begin to droop with sleep. She studies me for a few moments before leaning forward and kissing me softly, a silent thank you.

"Clary?"

"Hmm?" She hums, squeezing her eyes tightly before looking back up at me, trying to shake the sleep off.

"I know what you were saying earlier, you know," I hum, running my hand through her hair when her cheeks try to match her hair color.

"I know it might me too soon, and I'm sorry, Jace. I don't want to make things weir-" She looks nervously around, trying to avoid my gaze, but I rest my hand on the side of her face, capturing her entire attention. I feel way too warm, nervous even, but I know that she's going to keep rambling if I don't stop her.

"I love you too," I cut her off, and she pauses for a few seconds. I hold my breath waiting for her to respond, and when she finally does, it's in the form of a brilliant smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly, and I return the favor. I can't get enough of the sanctuary that this small girl brings me when she wraps me up in her embrace, so warm and _loving._

I didn't think that I could ever feel this way about a girl, but somehow Clary has wheedled her stubborn way in, and I'm glad she did, because I can't imagine a life without her. I need the hearing to go well, because I don't think that I could stand it if she were found guilty. I _need_ her in my life.


	8. Chapter 8: Hallow

**Hey frands! I'm back! Sorry November was like a no update month, I was participating in NaNoWriMo! Buuuut I'm back for the most part. I have finals this upcoming week, so after that I'll be freeeeee! But then I'm moving the week after New Years for school, I'm so excited! But yeah, that's wassup with me right now (:**

 **thank you so much JMDeaton for helping me out! We figured out some more cute fluff for the next chapter as well, so hold on!**

 **Xoxo Em**

* * *

 _I don't wanna be the first one folding_

 _I don't wanna be the joker heart_  
 _Tell me, darling, will you understand me?_  
 _And not show me your cards?_

 _'Cause I'm paper-thin_  
 _And you, you make me whole again_

Hallow, Tori Kelly

* * *

 **Clary**

Complete and utter chaos. Yelling, objects being thrown, threats and curses on the Morgenstern name. All of their angry faces jeer and laugh at me, telling me that I get what I deserve. That I've dirtied my lineage with demonic runes, slashed my credibility and that of my brother's. They're all here, too, and they don't do a damn thing to stop it all. They don't look hurt, or even slightly disgruntled.

Isabelle, Alec, and even Maryse are in the crowd laughing. They're snickering and Isabelle waves her hand at me mockingly, saying goodbye. Robert is the clearest. Right in front of me, he looks the happiest of them all, like he's won the lottery. I feel my stomach churn and the guard nearest to me shoves me to my knees in front of everybody.

"Clarissa Morgenstern, the Clave finds you guilty of high treason," Robert booms, his enthusiastic voice garbled and distorted. He knew he would win all along, and he dragged me to Edom and back to get his victory.

I'm going to be stripped of my runes.

When I turn to find somebody, anybody, I'm faced with something even worse than Robert, worse than my current fate - the only two men in my life that I care about.

They both stand there - Jonathan, standing - with impassive faces and judgmental eyes burning into mine. Jonathan strolls up to me and crouches, his hands resting leisurely on his knees, like this isn't a big deal.

"This is all your fault. You did this to yourself, Clarissa," he tells me sharply, cutting down any bit of pride I have left. "You've ruined the Morgenstern name."

With tears streaming steadily down my face - in front of the Council, in front of the _entire_ Clave - I look on to Jace. He's smiling. It's a sick twist of his lips, nothing like the warm smile that keeps me grounded and feeling protected. He's mocking me with the rest of them.

"Poor, little Clary. You used to be so strong, what happened to you?" He cocks his head to the side and pouts a little bit before laughing, my brother joining in.

"Clary," they all start to chant.

"You stupid little girl," Robert hisses with pleasure.

Jace joins in with the others, "Clary!"

"Clary, hey, shh, it's okay," his voice pulls me out, and my heart feels like it's flying through space and time, crashing haphazardly into my waking body. I'm shaking, my body and hair soaked, with my hair stuck to my face, and my clothes clinging to my body; like they are a part of my flesh. "You're okay. It's okay."

Jace holds me close to him, his hand running up and down my back as my chest heaves against his with a sob. I take a deep shuttering breath in and wrap my arms around him, burying my face into his neck. He's warm and solid, and here. Thank the angel, it was just a dream!

I'm okay, I keep telling myself. A deep inhale and an even longer exhale expel the vivid images of laughing and blame. It's not my fault. I didn't ask to be able to create these new runes, or to be fathered by a psycho. I didn't choose to be different.

"Thank you," I finally tell Jace with a more put together voice. He pulls away and rests his heavily calloused hands feather light on my cheeks, dabbing away the moisture. I lean into them and sigh before I rest my hands over his and turn my face to kiss his hands. "What time is it?"

Jace hesitantly slides his hands down my face as he glances towards the window where the sky is still dark, but a lighter blue shows that it is already beginning to transition into day. It's still early.

"I'd say five," he tells me softly. "Do you want to try and sleep longer? I'll be right here."

"No," I answer quickly and kick the restricting covers off of my legs. I turn back towards him and softly tell him, "You can go back to sleep, it's alright."

"I'm awake," he shakes his head and sits up more, waiting for me to make a move. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and let my bare feet fall to the cold wooden floor.

I hear Jace stand behind me as I move to the bag of clothes Isabelle let me borrow and dig around for a moment. I pull out black yoga pants, a green tank top, and a grey hooded sweatshirt; I need to do something physical, I need to train or run, or something.

Without another word, I move to the bathroom and change before running a brush through my hair, - I don't know who's it is, but it's hot pink so I'm hoping it's Isabelle's - and wrap the frizzy mass into a bun. After I splash my face with cold water, I lean my hands on either side of the sink and let my head hang, stretching my neck out. When I look up, I'm met with empty green eyes and deep circles underneath, water dripping down my sallow face. I'm exhausted both physically, and mentally.

What's happened to me? I've grown weak. I've let them all into my head, and now I feel... _nothing_. The Inquisitor would love to see me like this, broken down and alone. Hopeless.

Pathetic.

The knock on the door makes me snap up straight and pull myself together. I grab the towel off of the rack and dry my face before turning to open the door. Jace stands there in similar training gear and a sad smile on his face. He doesn't say anything however, and just holds his hand out to me.

He leads me down the stairs silently, and out the front door. I don't know where we're going, but I let him take me away, if even for just a moment.

* * *

We walk for a long while, hand in hand and in silence. It's still early, just past five and the sky is turning an odd color, like sherbet spilling across the sky. It's cool out, but the rapidly rising sun is already warming my skin. The back dirt roads of Alicante are deserted and narrow, everybody still tucked away until the sun wakes them up.

"Where are we going?" I ask Jace quietly. He squeezes my hand and smiles down at me.

"You'll see, soon." I don't like that answer, and he knows it. He just smiles his shit eating smile and tugs me along without a care.

I know he's just as worried as I am too, though. I'm pretty sure that everybody is, which is why that nightmare didn't make much sense, even though it felt so _real_.

Robert is a loose cannon. We have no clue what it is he's getting out of this, or just how far he'll go to get whatever _it_ is; but it's clear that _this_ is a lot more personal to him. I don't know how to stop him, besides to tell the truth.

But what if the truth isn't good enough for him? Will the rest of the Council follow his lead, or will they listen to the truth? Jia, the Consul, is friends with Maryse. I know the Lightwood's mother has spoken with her about me, but all in confidence. She can't make any decisions just because she's friends with Maryse. Which in my opinion, should be the same with Robert, since he _is_ her husband after all.

"You know that we'll fight this, right, Clary?" Jace asks me, his voice honeyed like his eyes that gaze down on me with worry. "If he tries to strip you."

I look down at our intertwined hands and squeeze tightly, while giving him a small nod. I know we will, and I know they'll all be by my side the entire time, - Jon, Jace, Isabelle, Maryse, even Alec and Max. Fighting their own father's will.

"Hey," he murmurs, stopping us and gently pulling me to actually look up at him. His hands come up to my cheeks like they have so often recently. It's become my favorite thing, being safely between his warm calloused hands, and staring into his comforting eyes. He leans down slowly and presses his lips to mine tenderly. With a hand on his chest, I kiss him back and let it all melt away. All of the worrying and tension and exhaustion, he takes it away from me and bares it himself. I pull away after a few moments and give him a smile; it's amazing how he can even do that to me. Jace is my safe space.

"Can we just forget? For a couple hours?" I ask him, desperately wanting to preserve and prolong our time together, because even though he keeps telling me that we'll fight this together, I'm still scared. And come to think of it, I was never really, truly afraid of anything before all of this happened. I was headstrong and impulsive, always ready to kill. I want that confidence back.

"Anything for you, sweets," he grins sarcastically and steps away, taking my hand up again. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Really? Sweets?" I scoff.

"No, that was weird," he chuckles as we come into the more rural areas of Alicante, where the trees are thicker and the small streams are more frequent. There really aren't any footpaths in this area, it's all just dirt or grass.

"Yeah," I laugh with him. At least he tried to lighten the mood. "Really though, where are we going?"

"Somewhere I used to go, when I was younger and my parents had things to do in town," he tells me after a moment of hesitation. His voice is soft and giving, sharing with me something important to him.

"Did you go there often?" I ask him.

"Every time we visited Alicante. I didn't like socializing with my parents' friends," he smiles fondly. "I haven't been here in years, though."

The terrain gets a lot more uneven the farther we go into the small forest that probably stems from Brocelind forest. It's beautiful though, with the morning sun filtering down through the canopy above, and the small animals scampering away from the sound of our footfalls. I even spot a little rabbit running in the opposite direction, as it tries to get away from us.

"It's pretty here," I murmur, wishing I had my sketchbook with me. "And don't make some cheesy remark about me being prettier."

Jace laughs. "You ruin all of my fun."

"That sucks," I smirk sarcastically, watching him fake annoyance and flip his hair with attitude; I laugh a little bit and squeeze his hand. "For you at least."

We walk for a few more minutes, our pace beginning to slow down a little bit. I can tell we're close, and I find myself smiling when I hear running water just up ahead. The light becomes brighter as the trees thin out again. The water is louder now and I can see it ahead, still shaded from the low angle of the sun.

When we step out from the small trail, Jace squeezes my hand and lets me savor the moment. It's absolutely breathtaking. There's a small spring of crystal clear water with the smallest trickle of a waterfall, and fauna growing everywhere; both, native to Idris and normal mundane flowers all growing together.

I pull Jace with me to the edge of the water and peer into the shallow pool, marveling at the shiny rocks scattered all across the light sanded bottom.

"Wow," I murmur, my eyes surely wide. I _really_ wish I had my stuff.

"You're wow," he replies with a deep, dramatic sigh, gazing down on me with full eyes before they crinkle and he starts to laugh. There's the cheesy comment.

"Way to kill the moment," I laugh, and he bumps my shoulder with his before dropping my hand.

"You love me," he shrugs and reaches behind his neck to tug his sweater and t-shirt right off. I watch him as he crouches to untie his boots, his shoulders rippling as he takes them off and pulls his jeans down. I'm red in the face, staring at him stripping down to his underwear. And then he's gone with a splash, into the water.

I take a step back from the edge and toe off my sneakers near his things, and watch him glide across the small pool, the water gently waving with his arms. I pull off my socks as well and dip my foot in, jumping a little bit when it's warm rather than cold like I expected.

Jace comes up at the other side of the pond and shakes his hair out of his face like a dog. "Are you coming in willingly, or am I dragging you in?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I laugh and turn my back to him, self conscious all of a sudden. I take off my sweatshirt and top, fussing with them when they get caught on my loose bun and pulls it out, the rubber band dropping somewhere and letting the frizzy poof go. "Ugh."

"I like it when you wear your hair down," Jace tells me from the water's edge, having swam closer to me. His arms are crossed on the edge, watching me, but not uncomfortably.

"I know," I sigh as I pull down my pants, leaving me in my plain blue underwear and bra. I quickly cannon ball into the water, holding my breath as I go, and laughing when I reemerge to see Jace wiping the water away from his eyes. "It's frizzy though."

"It's natural," he says simply and swims closer to me. I immediately move back a little bit, keeping my arms crossed over my chest. It's hard to do while treading water.

"If you say so," I reply playfully and pull my hair forward - it's so much longer when it's wet, it probably reaches mid waist. I do like that. I don't notice Jace edging closer while I'm messing with my hair until he's right in front of me, watching me closely.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

"Nothing important," I smile and hold my hand out towards him. He pulls me close to him, folding me against his bare chest. "Just getting lost in my head. Wishing I had my sketchbook."

"I'll bring you back here, when this is all over," his voice moves his chest that my cheek is pressed against, listening to his heart as he speaks. He pauses for a second before adding on. "Or, anywhere you want to go. I'll take you wherever."

"Like a vacation?" I ask in amusement and pull back to watch him trip on his words.

"I don't know, I've never done that before," he finally says.

"Gone on vacation?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Taken a girl somewhere," he clarifies.

"Well, I like it here a lot," I grin jovially and pull squeeze his sides that my arms are draped around. "And it means something to you."

"I'm not very good at getting my signals through to you, am I?" he laughs sheepishly, then ducks his head down to kiss my wet forehead. I give him a confused look and he sighs. "I want to get away. Just the two of us. I think we both need that, after all of this."

"That would be really nice, Jace," I sigh and tilt my head up to kiss him softly before I pull away to float on my back. "We deserve a vacation."

"Damn straight," he agrees, and when I turn my head, he's on his back as well, floating my way.

"Where would you want to go?" I ask softly, my voice sounding distorted because my ears are underwater.

"I don't know. I haven't been many places," he tells me. "Where have you been?"

"When I was drifting, I ended up in a lot of places. Tokyo, Paris, London. All the big cities. I always felt safer there, with so many people around. It's places like Idris where I'm wary. You never know what's out there in the fields," I explain as he floats closer, wiggling my toes at him when they come close to his face. "But, there's still so much more to see."

"Then let's go see the world. Moscow, Sydney, Madrid. Anywhere you'd like," he muses sincerely. Our ramblings are so trivial, and yet, so real and promising to me. I've never particularly wanted to get away from my life, but I need a break before I... well, before I break. He holds his hand palm up to me and I link my hand to his, careful not to disturb either of us. I hum and gently move my free arm through the water, bringing myself closer to Jace.

"I'd love nothing more."


	9. Chapter 9: I'm There

**It's been well over a year. Wowza. I really suck at keeping up with my stories now, I'm kind of growing away from Fanfiction. But i want to finish this for you guys. A lot of you have stuck this series out for FOUR FUCKING YEARS like idk how any of you are doing it or if you're all just new and binge read it all. But I'm sorry it's been dragged out so long! I'm trying to get this done for you guys, though, but I need time between school and everything. Thank you for sticking around and reading this, I hope youre all well 3**

 **THANK YOU JMDEATON I'd literally be nowhere without you dude**

* * *

 _I must say I'm never like this_  
 _I'll break it down so you don't miss_  
 _My point is that you got something_  
 _I've been hopin' and lookin' for a real long time_  
 _So I'm not gonna waste it_

 _In between the heart and mind_  
 _So much lost in so little time_  
 _I know a word can be spoken_  
 _And then a world can be opened up_  
 _And faith reborn_  
 _And then we'll never waste it_

I'm There, Hey Violet

* * *

 **Jon**

I've been awake for hours, laying in bed. Just thinking. I know I should try to sleep, but I can't. It's not even the fact that I'm not tired, but it's just that there's entirely too much going on in my head. I'm worried for Clary. She acts so strong all the time, but I saw the way she let herself slip when she thought nobody was paying attention yesterday.

She's losing hope. The strongest person I know, is losing hope. She's tired, and scared. She's been held for weeks with no word from the outside world, and now that she's on the outside, she doesn't know what to do. She still has to go back today; it was Maryse's connection with the Consul, after all, that allowed Clary to be released for the night at all.

At dinner, she was politely quiet and calm. Too calm. Clary would usually be angry and irritated, but above all, she would be trying to find a solution to this problem. She would be spunky, and she would get shit done. I figured she'd be a little shaken up after being imprisoned for so long, but I thought she would at least do better with all of us around. Even with Jace at her side, she wasn't _there_. She was in her own mind, lost to us nearly the entire time. And maybe, even to herself.

That's what scared me the most. The lack of anything and the forced smiles were just a mask, and I know she's hurting underneath, she just doesn't want us to worry about her. Even in times like these, she's so selfless.

"Jonny!"

I jump a little bit and pull myself upright with my arms, my heart pounding at the suddenness of the door being slammed open. Isabelle stands there in the doorway in a short black slip that comes down to her mid-thigh, and a robe loosely tied around her waist, her long, jet black hair draped down her shoulders on either side of her face, holding two journals to her chest.

"Iz, what's wrong?" I ask, waving her in. She steps in and flips on the lights, making me wince at the sudden change. Her dark eyes are bright with knowledge as she climbs into the bed right beside me and settles against the headboard.

"I think I've found… _something_ ," she tells me, her voice bubbly and excited. "I'm not sure what to make of it, though, and I wanted you to have a look."

She leans in closer to me and sets the open journals on my lap, pointing a finger at each. In one, the first date is all the way back to December of 1997. However, in the other journal the entries start in February of 1998, but a chunk of pages from the beginning seem to be missing. Small jagged edges of the yellowed paper are all that remains.

"Who's is this?" I ask her, pointing to the one missing pages.

"It's my mom's. It starts a month before I was born," she grins excitedly.

"Okay?" I question, thoroughly confused. What does it matter?

"I know for a _fact,_ that my parents were having problems the entire winter before I was born, but all of that is missing from here. That's weird because she seemed to keep fairly regular entries."

"Still not following, Iz," I sigh and glance over at the other book, the one I recognize from my own mother's handwriting. The very first entry is December 15th.

"Our moms were apparently good friends at some point, and it seems like they were really close. So... what if my mom told Jocelyn about whatever was going on with my dad and her? Do you think she would have written about it?" Isabelle asks, tapping her fingers on the leather book.

"Okay," I nod, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "I think that's a good start."

"I also have this theory," she tells me, her voice becomingserious. "It's not very solid, but these journals could help, I think."

"Let's hear it, then." I sit up a little bit more, watching as she runs her fingers over the torn pages of her mother's journal, hair falling into her face as she thinks.

"So, it doesn't make sense that my father has a problem with you and Clary, because he doesn't _know_ you two, right?" She asks me, her focus still on the journal and her voice sounding far away. I hum in agreement because it's been something that has been bothering me a lot. This has felt more like a personal attack rather than an attempt to get to the truth, like Robert has _claimed_ on occasion. "But what about _our parents?_ "

"You think they had a falling out?" I ask her intrigued. She nods.

"Exactly. I think the fight my mom and dad had that winter, might have had something to do with your parents. Well, both of our parents."

"You're a genius, Isabelle," I grin at her and squeeze her hand with all the new possibilities racing between us.

"I just want to know what this is _really_ all about **.** It's not fair to you, or Clary," she tells me with a shrug. She acts as if it's the most natural thing in the world to help us with this. It truly amazes me how much time and effort she's put into this whole thing. She's been knee deep in journals these past weeks and not once, has she given up or tried to walk away. I don't think I've ever thanked her for that.

"Jon?" She asks quietly, and I realize I've been staring at her. Her brown eyes are so soft and her parted lips full, watching me watch her with a small smirk.

"You've done so much to help Clary and I. Just… Thank you, Izzy. It means so much to me. To us," I tell her with a soft voice. My voice cracks a little and her resulting smile is absolutely brilliant. She grabs my hand and runs her thumb over the back of my knuckles.

"I know it does," she whispers. My heart stutters when she leans closer to me, her pink lips parted just a hair. I hold myself completely still as they press firmly against my cheek. Her nose brushes my cheekbone as she smiles against my cheek at my shock. I sigh inwardly as she pulls away, the warmth still on my cheek.

"Uh," I mutter and pick up the journal, flipping through it, trying to avoid embarrassment. "Let's start reading, then."

She smiles and looks down before she settles back in beside me with a journal of her own, and we get to work.

* * *

 **December 15th, 1997**

 _Val has been acting odd lately. I'm unsure if it's the stress that leading the Circle has brought him, but it's noticeable in the way he acts at home. He's so jittery and quick to return to his study. I know that he is creating a reform to present to the Clave, and it's caused him to work late nights, but I worry. I worry that he's not taking care of himself, and the Angel knows that he won't let me take care of him; he says I must worry about Jonathan and prepare for our next hunt._ _I know it's just the stress causing his odd behavior and the growing space between him and our son._

 _I know that Jonathan feels the lack of connection in the way he gets so excited when they do spend time together. And it's not much time at all. Just the few minutes he spends at dinner, feeding Jonathan on his knee before he darts off again._

 _He'll be two in a few weeks, and I want to have a gathering with the family. Maryse has been helping me plan for it, but it seems that we can never get anything done between her Alexander and my Jonathan always getting themselves into something they shouldn't, not to mention the growing child in her stomach. She's only months from bringing her daughter into the world, and she still tries to find the time to help me. I pray that the Angel blesses her with another healthy child._

 _I can hear Jonathan crying from his nursery now, and I'm sure Val can too. I almost want to wait and see if he will respond, but I know he won't._

 _-Jocelyn_

* * *

 **December 21st, 1997**

 _Maryse and I have finally finished preparing for Jonathan's birthday celebration next month. We had to do most of it here; Maryse says her and Robert have been arguing often, and over the smallest of things. It's stressing her and sweet Alexander out, and I know that she doesn't need that, especially with the new life growing inside of her. I'll lend her and Alexander a place in my home any time she needs it, although I know Val frowns upon that._

 _He believes that marital arguments should be kept in the home, not shared with confidants. I think it's cathartic to share your troubles with your best friend. It's healthy. Angel knows I've shared a bit about Valentine's odd moods with Maryse._

 _Four nights out of seven he's not home at all and I don't know where the hell he goes. When I question him, he smiles and tells me it's Circle business and to not worry about it. I remember a time when he told me every little thing that occurred during Circle meetings, and their plans to help reform the Clave to what it should be. Now, I hear nothing. We're drifting farther and farther apart, and I find myself with Maryse more often than home, because I'd be home alone anyways. I hate this, but I don't know how to bring it up to him._

 _-Jocelyn_

* * *

 **January 3rd, 1997**

 _Valentine is getting out of hand now. He hasn't come out of that god forsaken study once today. It's Jonathan's birthday. I'm furious, and no matter how hard I bang on that door, he keeps telling me to go away. I can't deal with him today, Maryse will be here any minute, and the guests in a few short hours._

 _-Jocelyn_

* * *

When I wake up, it's to my jaw being tickled by something soft. When I reach my hand up, to scratch, it's entangled in a mass of hair that's not mine. I slowly open my eyes and look down to see Isabelle curled in to my side, her head resting peacefully on my shoulder, and her messy hair resting all over my chest and neck. She breathes deeply with the journal left off to the side, her lips parted as she snores quietly. I don't think I've ever seen Isabelle look so unkempt, and that makes the moment even more perfect to me. I stay still for a few minutes, memorizing the way her soft breath feels on my chest and the way her lips curl just the smallest bit at the corners. In her sleep, she's even more perfect than awake; she's natural, and unguarded.

But as much as I'd like to, we can't stay holed up forever in this room together; Clary continues her trial today and I want to spend some time with her before then. I know she puts on a brave front, but she needs the support.

Then there's the journals, which I'm not sure if I'm ready to tell Clary about just yet. They could help, I just don't know _how_. And she already has a lot on her plate, so I don't need to add to it. Plus, I don't want to distract her from where her focus needs to be. And I sure don't want to get her hopes up either, or have her thinking that my attention is anywhere else but trying to help fix this mess Robert has landed her in.

I didn't get very far into the first journal. It wasn't that it wasn't interesting, it was just so weird reading what our mother wrote nearly two decades ago. I could feel the tension in her penmanship and words, and the tears wrinkling small little circles into the yellowed paper. She wasn't happy with Valentine, and I'm starting to wonder if there was ever a time where she _was_. If she was, it must have been way before my birth. Or at least it must've been before my earliest memories, because looking back all I can remember is pretend smiles and polite conversation. Never any substance, never any true joy.

I want to know if Isabelle found anything useful, or if she fell asleep too; it's nearly seven now and we should be getting up soon. Clary's trial is in a few hours. I tentatively run my hand over Isabelle's back to wake her up. She stretches and relaxes closer into my side, her arm coming around my waist. My heart hops when she smiles and turns her face upwards, finally opening her soft eyes to gaze at me. Yeah, I really wish we could stay here for a while longer.

"Iz?" I ask, my fingers running over the ends of her splayed hair; silky and straight underneath my fingertips.

"Hm?" She murmurs, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she sits up and rolls her neck in a circle. Her endlessly long legs peek out from under the thin throw blanket as she arranges herself in a cross-legged position, slip riding up her thigh. I can see the faint faded scars of past runes, past stories, past lives, curling up under the hem.

"Do you remember a time when your parents were happy? Like, truly happy," I ask, hedging around as I sit upright.

"I always thought they were happy," she shrugs and runs her fingers through her hair pulling out the snags. "But I guess I didn't really know any better when I was a kid. Obviously I know they're miserable now, but… I don't know. Maybe before I was born, before Max."

I think about that for a minute, formulating the words on my tongue before saying them. "I was thinking the same thing. About my parents, I mean. I remember my mom being genuinely excited for Clary, and I know she loved me, but I think the rest was…"

"A complete farce?" Isabelle sighs, her eyes matching mine.

"Yeah."

"It's weird isn't it? How these journals just completely ruined everything we thought we knew about our childhood?" She grins sardonically, her eyes sad.

"To be young and naïve again," I muse with a dramatic sigh, the mood shifting from something of a tense understanding to something softer.

"I'm glad you get it," she says grabbing my hand and twining her fingers between mine. "Your parents were exactly where mine were, emotionally at least."

"I guess you got off the hook on the murderous, backstabbing father bit," I squeeze her hand.

"Well, the vindictiveness is still there, but I'd rather not see if it escalates," she struggles to smile but her down-turned eyes say enough, and just like that the mood is gone.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, wishing this could all be over. For Clary and Jace, for Isabelle, for everyone that's gotten involved. "This is a drag."

"Let's go eat?" She asks hopefully, and I can tell that she doesn't want to talk about her father any longer. "Hopefully Clary's up so we can see her before she…"

She lets her sentence trail off, but she doesn't have to finish it for me to know what she was going to say. _Before she has to leave again._ Angel knows what'll happen today. Robert only has to seed reasonable doubt in the Clave for this entire thing to fall through, for Clary to be locked away or cast out into the mundane world. Stripped of her runes and the only life she has ever known.

"Yeah," I say softly and pull my hand from hers gently, the lack of warmth leaving me feeling oddly off kilter. "Let's go find her."


End file.
